


but with a whimper

by rumandraisins



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Mutual Pining, because they're nerds, but like, first violinist!Suga, ft. - Freeform, pining-related angst, plus smol kagehinas, pro volleyball player!Oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-01-08 19:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumandraisins/pseuds/rumandraisins
Summary: Define pathetic: Sugawara Koushi is in love with his best friend. He has absolutely no plans on doing anything about it, and there’s absolutely nothing in the world that will make him want do something about it, he’s that pathetic.But then-“Kou-chan, please be my boyfriend!”(Even more pathetic, however: Oikawa Tooru is in love with his best friend. No, he didn’t actually  muster up the guts to ask him out. He just asked said best friend to be his fake boyfriend instead. Nice kill, Tooru.)





	1. define pathetic

**Author's Note:**

> I had a Need.
> 
> ...Please indulge me ^^;

Define pathetic - pitifully inferior or inadequate; absurd; laughable. 

In other words, it’s Sugawara Koushi, who is in love with his best friend. No, he has absolutely no plans on doing something about it. Sorry, there’s absolutely nothing in the world that’s going to make him want to do something about it. He’s 5000% sure. He’s just going to happily languish in this absurd, laughable, pitifully inferior, festering little corner of the dictionary for the rest of his life.

But then-

“Kou-chan, please be my boyfriend!” 

Koushi chokes on his tea. 

He must have misheard, he thinks faintly while also simultaneously trying to hack up a lung. It’s not the first time he’s imagined Tooru saying these kind of things in broad daylight. It’s not going to be the last, either. One would think, though, that his imagination would at least have the decency to not do it while Tooru is _right there_ \- in the flesh, actual-real-person Tooru - sitting across from him and pouting.

_Pouting?_

“Rude,” Tooru sniffs, tilting his chin the way he does when he’s offended over things. “What kind of a reaction is that? I’ll have you know, I’m the _perfect_ boyfriend-“

Koushi coughs some more.

He just said it. Again. Twice. For the second time. One after the other, in the span of one conversation. Koushi’s imagination must be in a premium today.

Tooru’s face shifts from righteous indignation to concern. “You’re turning purple,” he notes, before moving to the other side of the counter and banging on Koushi’s back.

The kitchen, Koushi finds, is not the best place for dramatic declarations. 

Once he finally regains his breath, and shoves off Tooru’s overly enthusiastic hands, he pushes the teacup away like it’s poison. “Okay, what?” he demands, shooting Tooru a narrowed glance. “I didn’t hear you properly.”

“I said, Kou-chan, please be my boyfriend,” Tooru repeats dutifully, completely unconcerned like he hadn’t just blown Koushi’s mind and disrupted the order of the world. 

_Oh._

So that was for real then.

He’d just been asked to be Tooru’s boyfriend.

Somehow, when he pictured scenarios like this before, he’d always thought he’d take it with more grace and finesse than he just did _now_ , what with all the lung-hacking and the coughing and the purple-face-turning at his very own kitchen counter. Very classy, Koushi. And to make matters even worse, he just sits there and gapes at Tooru for a very, very long awkward moment, unable to find words like an _idiot_.

“Your boyfriend?” he finally echoes dumbly.

“Yes, my boyfriend,” Tooru says. “As in, I want to date.”

“Date.”

“Yes, date. But don’t worry. It’s not actually for real, okay?” Tooru clarifies. “Like fake dating.”

“Fake.”

“Yes, fake,” Tooru nods, snapping his fingers. “Let’s try to keep up, Kou-chan, I’m having a _crisis_ here.”

“A crisis.”

“ _Kou-chan_.”

Now, Tooru looks annoyed. But someone has to cut Koushi some slack, okay. There are just some situations that he never thought he’d be in with his best friend and this is _two_ of them, at the same time. Tooru can’t expect him to be coherent after the boyfriend bomb, especially since it had been immediately followed up by the fake-boyfriend bomb just in case some stray brain cells survived the first attack. He needs more than five seconds to process.

Although, of course, it makes so much more sense that Tooru isn’t actually asking him to be his real boyfriend.

As if Tooru would ever ask him to be his real boyfriend.

Before, that thought would have hurt Koushi so much more than it has any right to. It would have squeezed his chest until all he wanted to do was cry becase it sucked to be so in love and have absolutely no hope. (He might have also been more than a little melodramatic when he was in high school.)

Now, it’s just the way it is.

“Don’t pout at me,” Koushi snaps at Tooru’s puppy eyes. Tooru has amazing puppy eyes. They work all the time on his fangirls and maybe sometimes on Koushi, when he’s being particularly weak, even though he’s been on the receiving end of those puppy eyes ever since they were _kids_.

“But, Kou-chan-“ Tooru starts to whine.

“Why do you even need a fake boyfriend, Tooru?” Koushi cuts him off. “You can go out in the street and come back with an actual fling before I even finish my tea.”

Tooru perks up at the praise. “Of course I can, I’m a catch,” he agrees superiorly. “But it has to be you.”

Koushi pinches his nose. “And _why_ me?”

“Well, it’s a very long story,” Tooru hedges, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, you are trying at my very long patience,” Koushi tells him, wondering if he’s still got enough aspirin stocked to last him this explanation. Probably not. They disappear at an incredibly amazing speed whenever Tooru’s concerned.

“Okay, fine, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

_Too late for that_. “Just get it over with, Tooru.”

Tooru breathes in, like he’s mentally steeling himself for a match. And exhales: “So I was walking to practice, right? And there were these girls who wanted to take a picture so I did. And they started giggling and pushing each other and trying to not look like they’re about to ask me out even though I can totally tell? So I was just going to say something cool but disarming but then Mizoguchi-san was passing by, and you know how he _is_.”

Mizoguchi-san is the manager of the men’s national volleyball team, although he’s more like their coach fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent he spends despairing over Tooru’s revolving door of dates and the dozens of tabloid articles entitled _I cheated on my wife with Oikawa-san_ , second only to the dozens more tabloid articles entitled _Oikawa-san got me pregnant_.

Tooru thinks they’re hilarious. (Koushi’s even been named uncle of his fake children, many times.)

Mizoguchi-san... not so much. (Koushi’s even heard him threaten to take Tooru off the team, also many times.)

“So I panicked and blurted out something about me being in a serious relationship and then you texted me at that _very inopportune moment_ so when they asked who it was, I accidentally said you and then they _squealed_ and backed off because they ‘understood that I didn’t want to screw anything up’” – he made air quotes – “which, I still don’t understand, by the way! And I thought that was the end of it, you know, just this little white lie that will get Mizoguchi-san off my ass so I can have _space_. But then, he _congratulates us_ on finally ‘straightening up’” – air quotes – “before _practice_ so everyone _heard_ and then immediately started throwing _money_ at Tetsu-chan because they had a betting _pool_. On my _love life_. With _you_. A _pool_ , Kou-chan!

“And then, Ushiwaka-chan wanted to have a _conversation_ because he had _tips_ about handling a friends-turned-lovers relationship? As if I needed relationship advice from mister ‘this is a seed of life sprouting from the _concrete_ of your _heart_ ,’ and I should _take care_ and something about watering the love fern and something else about _weeds_ and I mean, excuse me, but _what?_ And for that entire time, I had to look at his _face_ and breathe the same _air_ ; at this rate, people are going to think we’re _friends_.

“And then after that, the team _publicist_ called, saying they were _glad_ , because I have finally gotten rid of the _taint_ in my _image_ in time for the World Championships and started talking about a _press release_.

“And then after _that_ , Makki and Mattsun called to thank me for being, and I quote, ‘hopeless enough to have taken this long,’ because now Iwa-chan owes _them_ money along with like, _half_ the people we know, meaning they’ve already _spread it_ to half the people we know.

“And then after _that_ , Sawa-chan called because he wanted to _talk_ , which actually meant he wanted to give me the If You Hurt Him speech, and who still gives people the If You Hurt Him speech? You’ve been my best friend longer than he’s even _been_ your friend, who does he think he _is?_ But when I asked him that, he just _laughed_ because I should expect it apparently from _everyone_ in the Tokyo Philharmonic, so there goes the _other half_ of the people we know.

“So basically now, _everyone_ knows. It just seriously blew up in my face and for all I know, they’ve already probably _also_ told my mother before I even served a single ball!” Tooru concludes, complete with dramatic hand movements.

Koushi stares.

This isn’t his first time being on the other end of Tooru’s rants. Koushi’s had more than his fair share, because unfortunate things always just seem to keep on happening to Tooru as if he consistently offends the _gods_ with his continued existence or, you know, maybe he’s just really clumsy. And Tooru likes to be dramatic about them. It goes without saying that they don’t usually deserve all the drama and most of the time, Koushi finds himself sympathizing with the other guy who gets stuck in the middle of Tooru’s latest sticky situation.

Except this time, _he’s_ the other guy.

“It’s okay,” he says finally. “No one actually thinks you and Ushijima-san are friends.”

Tooru points at him. “How is _that_ your takeaway?” he demands shrilly. “That is _not_ supposed to be your takeaway.”

“Why not, Tooru? You want to tell me how the fuck I’m supposed to process the fact that you lied to your fangirls about being in a relationship with me, and somehow, just let it spread all over Japan like _porn_ -“

“Okay, I realize that sounds bad,” Tooru backtracks, bringing his hands up placatingly. “But I got it all figured out, okay? We can just go along with it for a few weeks and then after that, we can break up because we realized we’re better off as friends and nobody has to know! It’s foolproof, Kou-chan! And also, by the way, the best possible solution to this situation-“

“That is the _worst_ possible solution to this situation,” Koushi says dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting Tooru the disappointed look that he knows will make his best friend _squirm_. “I’m not pretending to be boyfriends with you.”

“We won’t even have to do much!” Tooru insists. “We’ll basically act the same, except with more PDA-”

“ _Ohmygod._ ”

“-and I’m a really good boyfriend, you know! I’m sexy, seductive and super attentive! That’s three s’s, Kou-chan!”

“The third one is technically an a. No deal.”

“Okay, tough crowd,” Tooru says, rolling his eyes. “I’m also smooth, suave and sophisticated, how about _that?_ ”

Koushi snorts. “Yesterday morning, Tooru, you sent me a million crying cat emojis because you tripped over a volleyball.”

Tooru deflates. For Tooru, deflating isn’t just a metaphorical way of describing a mood, it’s an actual verb. He collapses into the kitchen counter with sad puppy eyes – gods _damn_ the puppy eyes – as if the air has literally just been sucked out of his body, and now he’s just lying there drained of all life. He learned it from Bokuto.

Koushi knows all this, logically, but it still doesn’t help the twinge in his chest. “Tooru-“

“Is it really so bad?” Tooru asks him, dully. “Being in a relationship with me? Even if it’s just pretend, is it really that bad?”

The twinge intensifies to an ache. Because the thing is, it really is _that bad_ , even if it’s not for the reasons Tooru thinks. Koushi can’t pretend to be in a relationship with Tooru while being in love with him. It will blur the lines. It will make him forget. It will make him used to a kind of affection that he shouldn’t be getting used to, not when it’s not his to take. It’s like giving an addict just a little bit of drug to stave off the pain. It’ll just make him crave, make him want, make him hungry for a kind of more that Tooru wouldn’t be able to give.

Koushi has long since made peace with the fact that he will never have Tooru.

But to have Tooru for a while, and then to have to go back to not having him at _all_ -

“Koushi.”

This is a Bad Idea.

It’s a Very Stupid Plan.

Not to mention the fact that it’s a cliche. Or that it’s the basis of about a million and one movie romcoms and shoujo mangas, so Koushi knows exactly how it’s going to end. Except this is not a romcom because Koushi doesn’t actually get the guy. They don’t get together in the end. It’s an angst-fest. A tearjerker. A tragedy in the making.

No _fucking_ way.

He’s staying away from that, and no amount of puppy eyes can persuade him otherwise. Koushi is strong.

“Please?” Tooru’s eyes glitter with unshed tears.

He is _strong_.

“Okay, Tooru,” he hears someone say. “You win, okay.”

Wait.

Koushi replays the last few minutes again in his head and... _oh_.

So he just said that.

Oh no.

“Yes!” Tooru cries victoriously, punching the air and alive once again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise, it’s only for a few weeks! It’s all gonna work out! You won’t even notice until it’s over.”

And then he engulfs Koushi in a tight hug that makes his stomach clench. Tooru’s skin smells like cocoa butter and sweat.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it, is that Koushi will notice _too much_. But he only laughs weakly and hugs his best friend in return.

“I better not.”

* * *

Define pathetic – pitiable; distressing; wretched.

In other words, it’s Oikawa Tooru, who is in love with his best friend. He’s been spending the better part of the last few years trying to build up the courage to say, “Kou-chan, please be my boyfriend.” He said it today. No, he didn’t actually muster up the guts to ask him out. He just asked said best friend to be his fake boyfriend instead.

Nice kill, Tooru.

Not only that, but he’d actually had to grovel for it, because obviously, Kou-chan has more sense and knows a stupid plan when he sees one. But he can’t help it. When the fangirls asked, it wasn’t because of a text that made him say Koushi’s name. It was because when he thought of _serious relationship_ , it was Koushi’s face that flashed in his head. And the answer came out without him even noticing – automatic, like he was just breathing. So maybe when everything started going downhill, he didn’t really do anything to stop it. (Not that he _could have_ , because it really did go downhill _really fast_ , but still.)

Because he’d thought, _this is my chance_.

Because he’d thought, _maybe like this I can show Koushi what it’s like to be with me_. And maybe Tooru can even make him like it. Maybe Tooru can make him want it. Tooru’s not stupid enough to actually expect Koushi to fall into his arms and swoon but-

At the very least, he might start looking at Tooru the way Tooru’s been looking at him for the longest time.

It’s pitiable that he’s resorted to this. It’s distressing that he doesn’t have better plans. He’s wretched for choosing such a roundabout way to deal with his feelings.

He knows all this but-

It’s done now.

What’s the worst that can happen?

(Famous last words.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The orchestra Suga plays for, the Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra, really exists. It’s one of the big eight orchestras in Japan (and lemme tell you, there are A LOT of orchestras in Japan). It’s not the biggest or one of the top three, but it is the oldest. It has about 130 musicians and more than 300 performances annually.
> 
> -This goes without saying, but the Japanese men’s national volleyball team also exists. It’s called Ryujin Nippon (as in? dragon Japan??). And, tbh, they don’t have a very good track record currently. -whispers- The women’s team is much, much better. -slides out-
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define honesty


	2. define honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honesty - the quality of being honest; truthfulness; candor
> 
> In other words: That’s because that’s how I really felt.

Yui’s already found out.

Of course Yui’s already found out.

She bangs on Koushi’s door and when he opens it with the air of a long-suffering martyred man, she jumps into his arms in glee.

“Congratulations, Kou!” she cries into his ear. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to get some game! I’ve almost given up on you, to be honest, but here we are!”

Michimiya Yui is a good friend in that even though she’s hated Tooru’s guts for about as long as she’s known that Koushi’s in love with him, she still lets him pine, listens to his sob stories and hasn’t already given up hope that Koushi will one day crawl out of his pathetic little hidey-hole and actually ‘get some game.’

“I texted Kiyo. She’ll be so thrilled!”

“Really?” Kiyoko disapproves of Tooru even more than Yui does. She also likes to use Koushi’s more melodramatic moments as opportunities to experiment with her work because rawness makes for better musicians. Koushi gets to work out his pain and Kiyoko gets music that can ‘move people’ and make them ‘feel something.’ It’s a symbiotic relationship. “I thought for sure Kiyoko would at least threaten to disown me.”

“Nah,” Yui says, jumping into the couch while Koushi closes the door behind her. “Kiyoko would probably say something like ‘oh thank god, finally I can get out of this depressing phase. I’m getting really sick of it.’”

“Kiyoko wouldn’t say that.”

Of course, at that very moment, Yui’s phone chimes with a text. She reads the message, before turning the screen to Koushi with a smug grin.

It says, **This means I can finally branch out to livelier pieces. I was getting a little concerned I’d never get to them.**

Koushi points at the phone. “I resent that. I’m a _professional_ , you know. I can separate my work from personal feelings.”

“You almost cried at the end of _Die Liebe_ last night,” Yui points out dryly. “While we were still in the _orchestra pit_.”

“Women are so heartless,” Koushi sniffs. “It was profound. The kind of love that triumphs over wealth and greed-“

“In one scene, Jupiter is literally standing on top of an _elephant_.” Yui pockets her phone and folds her arms over a throw pillow. “Also, it’s very cheesy.”

“ _Profound_ ,” Koushi stresses. “Audiences around the world have been moved to _tears_.”

“Audiences, yes. First violinists, not so much. Anyway, stop distracting me! I have several questions for you, the first of which is why I had to learn about this development from _Daichi_ , of all people.” She glares at him at this. “I mean, which one of us is your bosom friend?”

Yui and Sawamura Daichi have a tempestuous relationship. Very passionate. People would call it a whirlwind romance if a whirlwind can reform after it dies and then, just as abruptly, die again. And then form again. Right now, though, they are off-again. She probably doesn’t appreciate hearing about his fake relationship from her ex-for-now especially since the off-again part just happened very recently.

For his part, Koushi has just long since given up trying to figure them out.

“You are, Yui,” he replies, sitting beside her on the couch so he doesn’t have to look at her. “I don’t even know how Daichi found out. It wasn’t supposed to spread that fast.”

“Of course it would spread that fast. Everyone’s been waiting for you two to get your shit together for a long time.” This makes her perk up, and she starts bouncing childishly in her seat. “Speaking of! You still haven’t told me how it happened! I want to know everything. Where you confessed, where you first kissed, where you first made love-“

“Yui.”

“Who tops?” she continues, musingly. “I have a bet, you know. It’s very high stakes. I put my dignity on the line and all that. You better not disappoint me.”

“Wait, wait. In this bet, am I the top or the bottom?” This is very important information.

Yui leans back into the cushions and pretends to give him a once-over. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, before she pats his hand. It feels very condescending. “I believe in you, Kou.”

“Does that mean top?”

Yui hums innocently.

_“Bottom?”_

She’s humming a part of the score from _Die Liebe_.

_“Yui!”_

She laughs, “Secret!” and then winks. “Stop trying to change the subject. Come on, Kou. Spill your heart to your bosom friend.”

Koushi looks at her.

It’s a mistake.

She looks genuinely happy for him. Even if she’s always been quick to point out Tooru’s faults before, she’s eager to share in his joy because she’s watched him pine over Tooru for a very long time. Is it going to be like this with everybody he knows, Koushi wonders. An ‘it’s about time’ kind of reaction, a ‘you’ve really kept us waiting’ kind of thing because somehow Koushi and Tooru are perfect for each other in everyone’s minds. (Except for the fact that they’re not, of course, because Tooru doesn’t love Koushi that way.)

He thinks of Yui saying _everyone’s been waiting for you two to get your shit together for a long time_. Of Daichi giving Tooru the shovel talk. Of Kiyoko, even, getting concerned she’d never get to her livelier things, which Koushi will take as a metaphor for her getting concerned she’d never see Koushi be happy enough to play them genuinely.

Koushi has really good friends.

And he has to lie to all their faces and smile while they shower him with congratulations and share in his pretend joy because everyone knew how in love he was with Tooru.

Koushi had thought he couldn’t possibly reach a higher level of pathetic, but there it is.

When he glances at Yui again, her smile has dropped. “Koushi?”

The words just come out like a flood. “It’s not real. I didn’t ask him out. Or the other way around. Tooru lied to his fangirls and it spread around so he asked me to just play along for a while because it’s simpler this way.”

Yui stares. Her face cycles through surprised then several different versions of bewildered, until it finally settles with disapproval.

“Simpler?” she repeats incredulously. She’s already using her judging eyes, the ones that make Koushi feel about two feet tall. “Actually, Koushi, you’ve just made a simple problem with a supposedly straightforward solution _complicated_. I didn’t think you could do that, but you did, because you said yes without a fight, didn’t you?”

“I know it’s dumb,” Koushi begins.

“That’s because it is.”

“But it’s just for a few weeks, okay? I can handle a few weeks.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Where is the trust?” Koushi asks airily.

“Kou, and I say this with the least offense possible,” Yui grasps his shoulders and looks him in the eye. “But you won’t be able to handle a fake relationship with someone you have very real feelings for without getting entangled in _more feelings_. And yes, that includes very hurtful feelings-“

“That I can handle, okay?” Koushi gently disengages her hold. “Trust me.”

Yui sighs.

Koushi stubbornly sets his jaw.

“Koushi-“

“Please, Yui,” he says quietly. “It’s just... Tooru needed me and I couldn’t say no. Even if I knew it was stupid. When I told him I’d do it, he was really happy.” And that’s all that matters, really. Koushi would break his heart for Tooru again and again, if it made him happy.

And anyway, it’s not like he’s not used to that particular brand of pain.

Yui sighs again and gives him a _what am I gonna do with you_ kind of expression. “Maybe it’ll be like I’ve always said and Oikawa won’t even know how to act like a decent human being, much less a boyfriend,” she concedes tiredly. “You’ll finally be able to open your eyes and see that he’s a walking disaster in real life.”

“I don’t know about that. He told me he’s smooth, suave and sophisticated.”

Yui snorts.

“It’s just a few weeks. And then it’ll be over and we’ll be back to normal.” Koushi’s actually not sure precisely who he’s trying to convince by saying that, but at least he sounds convincing. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Yui sighs for the third time. “Just for the record, okay, I think this is stupid and you should call it off and elope with the next hot guest conductor that comes your way.”

“Unless the next guest conductor is old, straight or married. I have standards.”

“They can’t be all that high, considering _who_ you’re making stupid love decisions for.”

“ _Yui_.”

Yui sighs again, and then, without warning, slaps both her palms into her cheeks. When she looks back up at him, there’s a glint in her eyes and she’s smiling dangerously. “I reserve the right to kick ass when all this inevitably falls apart,” she tells him and when he nods, her smile widens. “I’ll wear my _pointiest_ heels. And also say I told you so.”

Thus saying, she shakes her head, as if trying to rid herself of the lingering traces of very reasonable doubt in this stupid charade. “So, what’s your game plan?”

...Shit.

  


* * *

  


“We need a game plan.”

Tooru blinks and emerges slowly from his haze. One of Australia’s taped matches is still playing in his laptop screen. Australia’s probably going to be their toughest opponent in their qualifying pool. They’ve won an Asian Championship once. Their captain plays opposite and had once scored 183 kills right here on _Japanese soil_. Their number 3 had been named Best Spiker and MVP in at least three separate tournaments. Not to mention the fact that they’re going to be playing these matches in _Australia_ , so they have the home court advantage.

Tooru is going to repay that captain those 183 kills. He’s going to tear away their blocks with his bare hands and then set up so many clean points, their heads will _spin_. So what if that happened years ago when Tooru wasn’t even on the team? This is a matter of _national pride_.

“Tooru, are you listening to me?”

Tooru barely gets any time to even open his mouth before he starts getting pummeled by a rain of cushions. “Kou-chan!” he protests, batting away the flying projectiles. Koushi has very good aim. “Stop! I mean it! You’re very strong, you know! It feels like I stuffed my pillows with _rocks_ , this is _abuse_.”

Koushi huffs, mostly because he’s ran out of missiles. He settles petulantly beside Tooru, and huffs again. It’s very cute.

But then again, Koushi is always very cute.

“Not that I don’t like seeing your face, Kou-chan, but as you can see, I’m very busy,” he says, indicating the match and the impressive pile of flashdrives he’s got scattered on his coffee table.

Koushi considers the screen quietly. Tooru can almost see the visible signs of hesitation appearing in his face, before he straightens up once again and slams the laptop close. “That can wait,” he decides, turning to glare at Tooru. “This is an emergency and it’s your fault.”

“Mean.” Tooru glares back. “Stop assuming I did something when I didn’t do anything. I’m usually innocent, you know.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Tooru,” Koushi drawls. “Your ‘little white lie’ exploded in your face and now everyone and their mother thinks that we’re in a _relationship_.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” Koushi snaps, his glare intensifying. “Exactly that. Yui attacked me in my apartment after you left, that. And she started asking me all these questions and I had no idea what to say and I _freaked_ and told her the truth because _we have no game plan_.”

“We don’t need a game plan! I’m a _good boyfriend!_ ” Tooru points out. And very reasonably, he might add. “And we know everything about each other already so it’s not like _that’s_ a problem. I was very smart about this.”

“Oh, yeah?” Koushi asks. “Okay, then, which one of us confessed, Tooru? How did it happen, Tooru? Where was our first date, Tooru? Where did we first kiss, Tooru? Where did we first do the do, Tooru? _Which one of us tops, Tooru?_ ”

“O- _ho_ ,” Tooru smirks. “If you wanted to know about my sexual capabilities, Koushi, you just had to ask. You don’t have to be so sly about it.”

“For your information, that was Yui, and she had a bet.”

“Did she bet on me as the top?”

Koushi gives him a scathing glance.

“Because she should’ve bet on me as the top.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I can totally be the top.”

“Koushi, I’m a top.”

“Ohmygod,” Koushi groans and then throws him a disbelieving look.

“Why do you look so skeptical?” Tooru demands hotly, taking a pillow and throwing it to Koushi’s face. “It’s why Iwa-chan and I didn’t work out, you know! Because we’re both tops!”

“I thought it was because of irreconcilable differences,” Koushi ducks under the pillow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

So Tooru plays it up. “That _is_ an irreconcilable difference. How are we supposed to move forward with our relationship if no one wants to take it up the-”

“Wow, you’ve just ruined irreconcilable differences for me.” But he’s grinning. “I can never use it in decent company anymore, congratulations.”

Tooru grins back. He can’t not. When Koushi smiles without holding back like this, it lights up his entire face, brightens his eyes, and paints his features in vivid brilliance that highlights his high cheekbones, the aristocratic line of his nose, the cupid’s bow of his mouth. Tooru can’t help but look at the many beautiful pieces of his face, open and honest and all for Tooru. It makes him feel warm all over, as if Koushi’s smile has pumped sunlight into his blood.

And the words are at the tip of his tongue, everytime.

_I love you_.

At least, until the spell breaks.

Koushi’s smile falters. He clears his throat and quickly looks away.

Tooru wants to bang his head. _Don’t stare so much_ , he reminds himself. It’s creepy. He’s not going to win Koushi over by being creepy.

“Anyway,” Koushi starts, albeit a little shakily. “Like I said, we need a game plan. Or, you know, at the very least a convincing and recent backstory.”

“Let’s see.” Tooru leans his head on the back of his couch to stare at the stars on his ceiling. He and Koushi had put them up, back when Tooru first got his apartment. Koushi had laughed so hard when Tooru had produced star maps so they could make accurate representations of the constellations. And then, he called Tooru a nerd at least a dozen times. But after all that, it had been _Koushi_ who obsessively referred to it like it was the law.

The memory makes him smile. “What if one day, you got home and found this message from me that took you on a romantic scavenger hunt across the city where in the end you found _me_ and I confessed and you were so overcome, you cried actual tears?”

“No offense, Tooru, but nobody’s going to believe you actually made the effort to make a romantic scavenger hunt.”

“Excuse _you_ , I’m a very romantic person-“

“Once, you got broken up with because you called your girlfriend the wrong name during sex.”

“That was not my fault,” Tooru retorts. “Kanna and Hana were _identical twins_ , how was I supposed to know which was which? Also that was a fling. Not even a serious relationship.”

Koushi gestures at him at that, which usually means something Tooru said has just proved his point. He pouts. “Fine, why don’t _you_ try if you’re so romantic?”

“Why me? This is all on _you_.”

“How is it all on me?” Tooru asks. “This is a _we’re all in this together_ kind of deal.”

“No,” Koushi says slowly, looking for all the world like he’s exasperated. “This is a _stuck in the middle with you_ kind of deal.”

“And now, we’re all in this together!”

Koushi sighs. “If you’re just going to fool around, I’m going to leave-“

“Your concert, two weeks ago.” Tooru says it carefully, testing the words out in his mouth.

Koushi falls silent.

Tooru knows that Koushi knows what he’s talking about - the concert two weeks ago where, due to some unforseen series of events that Tooru didn’t exactly understand, Koushi had ended up with the solo. He’d been so nervous. Tooru had to confiscate his laptop so he didn’t do anything stupid like write a resignation letter. He’d needed to play two separate violins, which Tooru is still amazed about to this day. He’d had to get one violin restrung, twice. Tooru had practically lived in his apartment in the days leading up to it so he could frogmarch Koushi to bed because he didn’t want to stop practicing.

And then the big night came along, and Tooru had sat in the audience and watched as Koushi came alive.

Tooru hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away.

“We ate dinner together afterwards,” Tooru goes on. “And all you could talk about was how you almost messed it all up. But you didn’t. You were the most beautiful piece of music I’ve ever heard. Even in the midst of all the members of your orchestra, all I could see was you because you were the brightest star.”

He hadn’t really said all those things to Koushi, because he’d been too scared. He still is. But at least like this, he can tell Koushi how he felt.

He turns his head to look at his best friend. Koushi’s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, like he’s surprised. But there’s a dusting of blush across his face that makes Tooru’s heart skip several beats. Almost absently, he reaches out to trace it with his fingers.

Koushi’s skin is soft and warm beneath his touch.

“Tooru-“

“And then when I dropped you off at your door, I kissed you,” he finishes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Koushi’s ear. “How’s that for a nonromantic?”

For a very long moment, Koushi is still.

And then he blinks.

And then abruptly delivers a completely undeserved sucker punch to Tooru’s side.

Tooru yelps in pain. “What was that for?” he cries woundedly, nursing his injured side.

“You’re so full of shit,” he declares crossly, still blushing. “Shittykawa.”

Angry but embarrassed but shy. It’s a good look on him.

And Tooru put it there.

He’ll call that look progress.

“But I’m _your_ Shittykawa,” he sings. “And you’re going to have to tend to my wounds, because if I bruise, the next gossip spreading all over Japan would be that I’m getting domestically abused, boyfriend.”

“You never know, maybe we’re just really kinky,” Koushi says.

Tooru stops fussing over his stomach and gapes at him, which makes Koushi grin crookedly. “But I suppose that story’s as good as any, boyfriend.”

Coming from Koushi’s lips like that, the word is like electricity in Tooru’s veins.

_That’s because that’s how I really felt, Koushi._

Of course, he’s not brave enough to say that.

Yet.

Somehow, being able to say yet feels good. “So we’re all in this together?”

Koushi laughs and starts humming.

It feels like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- _Die Liebe der Danae_ is an opera. I guess it’s profound in that love vs. gold kind of way but can I just say that Roman gods are just really weird?
> 
> \- My friends and I discovered the term bosom friend back in HS Literature. And because we were immature little shits, we started giggling in class and calling each other that for fun and then it kinda stuck? So yeah, Yui and Suga are bosom friends and this friendship is Pure and everything that is good in the world and you can pry this HC from my COLD, DEAD HANDS.
> 
> \- The qualifying pool Oikawa is talking about is the qualifying rounds for the 2018 FIVB World Championships.
> 
> \- Oikawa is actually very comfortable both as a top and a bottom. But he’s a Big Nerd and he didn’t want to admit it so.
> 
> \- The solo for Suga’s section rightfully should have gone to the concertmaster. And TPO has _three_ of them. Don’t ask me how he got it. I have no idea. It just happened. I claim artistic license.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define want


	3. define want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> want - desire; wish; crave 
> 
> In other words: It’s more than good enough. And it’s not nearly good enough, at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be longer? But then Oisuga spilled their feelings all over my page, I'm so sorry >.<

_Stupid._

Koushi checks his violin. Again. Even though he’s checked it at home and tuned it before he left. Even though he’s already checked it when he arrived in case something happened to it on the way to rehearsal. Three times. It’s a good way to keep his mind occupied so he doesn’t have to think about other things he’d rather not think about.

_Idiot._

They have a conductor with them today. He’s late for some reason so Koushi has to gracefully endure all the congratulations and so-happy-for-you’s for longer than he’d care to admit. Daichi thumps his back enthusiastically, which Koushi responds to with an even more enthusiastic punch to the gut that Yui laughs at as she walks past. Kiyoko makes idle comments about happier pieces, which honestly makes Koushi feel _so betrayed_. Asahi, bless his soul, is the only one who isn’t inappropriately avid with his good wishes and Koushi declares him to be a true friend and demands why everyone else can’t be more like Asahi.

_Stupid idiot._

He stares at his violin sightlessly until the concertmaster stands and faces the rest of the orchestra, calling for the principal oboist. When the A note rings out, Koushi sees Yui roll her eyes.

When Daichi and Yui are off-again, Yui becomes a hundred times more critical of the oboe section. Also, she purposely calls it a clarinet where Daichi could hear, which makes his brows twitch. And when the evil aura starts leaking out, Yui flippantly talks about that time in uni when Daichi decided it was Time to start making his own reeds and it. Did not. Turn out well. In retaliation, Daichi tells the entire wind section about that time Yui was practicing outside when people started dropping money into her violin case because they thought she was busking, and it got her chased out of the park by a policeman.

And so on. They can both become vindictive little shits if they really want to.

It’s like Koushi said. A tempestuous relationship.

But at least it’s a proper relationship. At least they know exactly where they stand with each other. At least they never agreed to stupid things like be in a pretend relationship while being actually in love with the person they’re pretending to be in love with.

What was Koushi thinking?

Not even a few hours, and he almost ruins everything because Tooru is just that good at making up a story?

Of course it was just a story.

Of course.

Tooru’s not actually stupid. He is, in fact, very perceptive. He knows exactly what kind of story will make their friends fall all over themselves, and he knows exactly how to tell it to achieve his desired effect.

It’s not supposed to make _Koushi_ fall all over himself, because it’s _not real._

And he’s supposed to _know_ that.

He’s supposed to be _handling_ it.

He’s not supposed to go back in time and reimagine things the way Tooru’s painting them, even when he’s painting them so appealingly that it makes his heart ache with longing.

Sure, he remembers the 894th. It was Mahler, Symphony No. 4.

More importantly, perhaps, he remembers everything _before_. Remembers Tooru listening to him freak out and then declaring, “I’m taking your laptop away from you,” as if he already knows about the half-formed ideas that have barely taken root in Koushi’s mind. Remembers Tooru texting him reminders to eat and take a break and _breathe_. Remembers Tooru throwing him to bed and, “So pushy, Tooru, is this how you treat your lovers? No wonder they break up with you.”

Remembers Tooru holding his cold hands, and, “I believe in you.”

Remembers choking down his panic, and thinking of his early memories of his mother playing, and telling her that he can do it - not he wants to, but he _can_. How he had to fight his father for this, and that conversation in the dinner table where Koushi had somehow found the backbone to look him in the eye and say, “I’m going to be a musician.”

Remembers taking a deep breath and thinking, it’s okay. There’s always going to be one person in that audience who has his back no matter what.

Then he had exhaled.

And his violin had responded to his call.

After, while he’s being assailed by congratulatory hugs and well-done’s and good-job’s, it had been Tooru’s face he’d wanted to see the most.

They didn’t have dinner together. Tooru didn’t give him a romantic speech, didn’t call him a star. He didn’t kiss Koushi in his doorstep when he dropped him home.

But it had felt _good_ , knowing that Tooru had loved him enough to deal with the mess he’d been before the concert. Going through his silly texts. Settling in his couch and finding out that it still carried Tooru’s scent.

It had been good enough.

Koushi could have lived with just that.

But then-

_You were the most beautiful piece of music I’ve ever heard._

Now, Koushi’s wishing. Now, Koushi wants more than ever.

And it hasn’t even been a day.

_Stupid._

He should be better than this. He’s just going to mess it all up if he doesn’t get a grip. There is a line in the sand between reality and dreams that should never be crossed. He’s been so good at not crossing it since _high school._

It’s just a few weeks.

As long as he doesn’t get any more idiotic, it’ll be fine.

He’s survived this long, it’ll be fine.

The conductor raises his baton. Koushi glares at his sheet music, and the notes just stare back at him accusingly. “God _damn_ you, Beethoven,” he mutters under his breath.

Yui shoots him a glance, and it’s already starting to look a lot like _I told you so_.

  


* * *

  


The screen says, **And BYOB.**

Tooru sends back a series of texts.

_bring your own beer?_

_to a bar?_

_im side eyeing you!!_

_you get the beer IN the BAR_

_thats why you GO to a bar iwa-chan im so disappointed in you_

**Bring your own boyfriend, Stupidkawa.**

Okay, that’s just mean. How’s Tooru supposed to know BYOB means bring your own _boyfriend?_ First of all, none of them even _have_ boyfriends at the moment. Not clear ones, anyway. Who’s everyone else going to bring exactly?

There’s Makki and Mattsun, who have an are-we-aren’t-we thing going on that they’re not supposed to talk about.

And then there’s Iwa-chan, who has this not-friends with ‘actually-it’s-hate-sex’ benefits thing going on with the guy doing his beta work that they’re _also_ not supposed to talk about.

And then there’s Tooru. Who has this thing going on where he dates around while actually being in love with his best friend that they talk about a lot because everybody is mean and likes to pick on him no matter how many times Tooru points out that _everyone_ in this particular friend group has dysfunctional relationships.

But nobody listens to him even when he’s being the actual voice of reason so.

Second of all, he just checked google. It’s definitely bring your own beer. Assholes.

“We’re gonna have to face our friends _some_ time,” he says, when he shows the text to Koushi and the only thing his best friend does for the next several minutes is look dismayed.

Koushi sighs. “I know. I just didn’t think...” He shakes his head. “I didn’t expect to do it right away.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Kou-chan,” he promises for the millionth time. “I’m a-“

“Good boyfriend, you’ve said,” Koushi finishes tiredly. “That’s what I’m afraid of. They’re going to expect us to do... _couple stuff._ ”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m also a very good kisser,” Tooru informs him. “Lots of lip action and tongue.”

“Ohmygod.”

“Minimal tongue?”

“Tooru.”

“They’re not going to buy it unless there’s _at least_ a little bit of tongue.”

“Stop saying tongue!” Koushi chucks the phone back at him. The embarrassment that’s clear on his face diminishes his aim, though, and it lands harmlessly on the couch. “You’re making it weird.”

“Koushi,” Tooru says solemnly. “Have you never been kissed with tongue?”

Koushi just looks at him.

“My poor child!” Tooru cries, grasping at Koushi’s shoulders and shaking him. “You’re missing out on _so much._ I’ve made up my mind, we have to practice. No way am I making out with you for the first time in front of those bastards. They can _smell_ the blood of a virgin from miles away.”

There’s a quick jab to his ribs that has absolutely no business hurting the way it does. Koushi’s fist is, like, the size of a tennis ball, but it might as well be a tennis ball made of iron for all the pain it can cause. “Why must you keep hurting me like this?” he wails miserably.

“First of all,” Koushi says, imperiously sticking his nose up in the air. “That wasn’t even that strong, stop being a baby. Second, I’m not making out with you in front of your friends. In an ideal world, I won’t ever have to make out with you for the entire duration of this pretend relationship, thank you very much. And finally, fuck you, Tooru, I’m not a virgin.”

“Well, if you fucked me, then _obviously_ -“

Koushi jabs him again. _At the exact same place_ , goddamn. “Kou-chan, stop that! It’s _throbbing_.”

“Let it alone. My heart wasn’t even in it.”

He moves to pat at it, but Tooru draws away cupping his hands around himself protectively and hissing. “I don’t trust you.”

“That’s too bad,” Koushi says nonchalantly. “Because trust is the foundation for every good and lasting relationship. I guess this means we have to break up.”

“It’s barely been more than a day, Kou-chan.”

“Some things just weren’t meant to last.” Koushi pretends to wipe at an invisible tear and starts staring wistfully into the distance.

“Koushi, I swear to _god_ -“

Koushi laughs. “You’re fine,” he assures good-naturedly. “But we’re still not making out.”

It’s not like Tooru had been all that hopeful for that, anyway. “We still have to act a little different, though. Since we’re supposed to be boyfriends and honeymooning.”

“Honeymooning?” Koushi looks at him dubiously. “What kind of behavior do people expect from boyfriends who are honeymooning?”

“You know,” Tooru makes some vague hand movements. “Like being clingy and sappy and can’t get enough of each other and all that.”

Koushi bites his lip, and Tooru immediately gets reminded that it’s only with Koushi that he understands why lip biting is considered a sexy thing. It emphasizes the plumpness of Koushi’s bottom lip, coats it wet, makes it glisten, colors it a darker, even more enticing shade of red. He wants to touch it, with his fingers, with his _tongue;_ worry that lip between his own teeth and oh, the sounds Koushi would _make_ -

His throat feels very dry all of a sudden.

Koushi exhales audibly and then turns to him purposefully, taking his hand from where it’s clenched on his lap.

“Koushi?” he asks, voice hoarse.

But Koushi doesn’t say anything, just slides close - so close, so close, too close - until Tooru’s arm is comfortably wrapped around his waist. And then, without warning, he relaxes completely against Tooru’s side, dropping his head on Tooru’s shoulder and snuggling his face against his neck, settling contentedly like a cat.

And Tooru feels... disjointed, stiff. As if all the points of contact between his body and Koushi’s have gone numb, beyond his control, owned by someone else. He can feel Koushi’s breath against his skin. It sends a tingling sensation that cuts through the numbness, as easily as a knife cuts through butter. It raises goosebumps all the way down to his arms, and makes him want to shiver, even as heat radiates from Koushi’s body, a bright flare of licking fire. When he turns his head, his chin brushes the top of Koushi’s head.

His shampoo is apple-scented.

“Koushi, what-“

“I’m sorry, Tooru.” And Tooru feels it, too, when he talks - Koushi’s lips moving against his skin, so faintly, a whisper of a touch, a tease of promise. In the face of it, his thoughts scatter like pollen, blown so easily away by the wind of Koushi’s words. “I know I agreed to help you, but I really haven’t been doing my part, haven’t I? So far, I just let you do all the work and complained a lot. But if this is what you need from me, then this is what I’ll do. I’ll see this through with you to the end. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

And he nestles into Tooru even more, curling his hands into Tooru’s shirt, right above Tooru’s chest, Tooru’s _heart._

Tooru’s heart, that feels like it’s about to explode right out of his skin.

When Koushi looks up at him, his face is hesitant. As if he’s afraid of Tooru pushing him away. Or, just as likely, maybe he’s afraid of Tooru wanting more. Tooru doesn’t understand what’s happening. It’s a new feeling. He’s always been able to get what Koushi is saying, and what he’s not. He’s always been able to hear the language of Koushi’s body, so clearly that it’s like Koushi is stating his intentions out loud. But now, he doesn’t understand what Koushi’s doing at all, and how he expects Tooru to react. Should he slide away, or pull him close? Should he let this happen or stop it from happening at all? What is it that Koushi wants?

“Is this good enough?” Koushi asks quietly, eyes huge and guileless and eager to please.

_Oh._

Tooru’s heart stops.

It’s more than good enough.

And it’s not nearly good enough, at the same time.

_Oh, of course._

It’s all for show. They’re fake boyfriends. They have to work at PDA or else they’ll get caught. That’s all this is.

At least for Koushi, that’s all this is.

But for Tooru-

He and Koushi haven’t been close like this for the longest time. It’s just something that’s happened over the years, and Tooru had thought, well, it was bound to come eventually. They matured, nothing sad about that. It’s a natural part of growing up as friends. Children have always been more free with their affections anyway. Adults aren’t. Roughhousing, maybe but affectionate touching, no. They’re Japanese, not exactly the touchiest people in the world. And who the hell came up with the idea that being touchy-feely is the true measure of friendship?

That’s just stupid.

Tooru and Koushi were the best of best friends. And they don’t need to be clingy to be assured of that friendship. That’s awesome, isn’t it? Fuck those cuddly friends. Tooru feels sorry for them, that they need so much consistent validation. _He_ doesn’t need it.

He doesn’t-

-does he?

_Don’t be stupid._

He’d reasoned with himself a lot because he hadn’t wanted the lack of physical contact to hurt, so much so that he’s eventually been able to accept it as part of his friendship with Koushi – that they were closer to each other than anyone else in their life, but not like this.

Not overly affectionate.

Not constantly touching.

He would have never been able to hide his feelings if they’d been friends like this.

But-

It’s not about hiding his feelings anymore.

Besides, they’re supposed to be boyfriends, right? Honeymooning. Boyfriends touch. Honeymooning boyfriends touch a lot. Can’t get enough of each other and all that. This is the situation he’s created for them, and Koushi has accepted so readily. Under the pretense of this fake relationship, he can have _this_.

And he can milk this moment as much as he can until he can have it forever.

So he draws Koushi close, burrows his face until all he can smell is apples. Koushi pliantly moves with him, absently humming one of his complicated symphonies, his lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against the hollow of Tooru’s throat.

Beneath his lips, Koushi’s hair is silky and fine. “We’re going to PDA them so hard, Iwa-chan will _die._ ”

One day, he will be brave enough that he won’t have to hide behind those kind of statements, behind pretense, behind _anything_.

But for now-

This is enough.

He is satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Daichi plays the oboe. Fuckin fite me. His pet peeve is people mistaking the oboe for a clarinet. If anyone wants to know what happened when he first started trying to make his own reeds, I have two words for you: Duck. Noises.
> 
> \- Yui’s busking story really happened to my friend, except my friend sorta did it on purpose.
> 
> \- Kiyoko plays the viola. But Kiyoko also likes to write music and if they’re particularly sad, she makes Suga play them. Because Suga is ‘also particularly sad.’ Kiyoko is #savage.
> 
> \- Asahi plays the cello. When they were in high school, Suga and Yui tried to encourage him to work the sensitive soul, tortured musician angle, except they failed to consider how the equation might compute differently for other people. As in: big bad guy + big black case + general angsty aura = yakuza?!?
> 
> \- Mahler 4’s solo requires two violins, one tuned normally and the other a whole step up. Because of the high tension in the E string (now F#), it could snap easy. That’s why Oikawa mentioned that Suga had to restring one violin twice. It was also a challenge for Suga because in the scordatura solo, what's written in the music isn't what's coming out under his ear. He had to practice it a lot.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define believable


	4. define believable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> believable - able to be believed; credible; convincing
> 
> In other words: They’re super legit. Nothing fishy here. Move along. Just two normal, totally not phony boyfriends publically displaying affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! Iwaoi backstory coming up. It's short, don't worry, I'm still Oisuga trash :D
> 
> (PS: I'm so confused about what I should and shouldn't put in the tags? Example: see above heads up ^^^ Halp.)

“Soooooo,” Makki says as he sidles forward onto the table, settling his chin on his open palm. He’s smirking.

Tooru swallows nervously.

But he doesn’t have anything to be nervous about, right?

He tries to visualize what they look like to Makki and Mattsun and Iwa-chan, going through their position like he has a checklist. His arm is around Koushi’s waist. Koushi is pressed, almost practically pasted, into his side. They even nuzzled, two times. He’s also blushing, and he knows this because he can feel the warmth of his cheeks. They’re super legit. Nothing fishy here. Move along. Just two normal, totally not phony boyfriends publically displaying affection.

He only realizes he’s being too stiff when Koushi subtly rams his elbow into Tooru’s side. In response, Tooru widens his smile through his exhale of _pain_.

Makki’s gaze swivels to Koushi. “It was a pity fuck, right?”

_“Makki!”_

“No, wait,” Makki taps a finger to his lips consideringly. “Drunk sex? Did he trick you into taking responsibility for him, Suga-chan? Because that only works if you got him pregnant, you know.”

“Ohmygod!”

“Then... does that mean-?” Mattsun leans toward Koushi conspiratorially. “Suga-chan, did he actually take advantage of you?”

“While you were drunk?”

“And your inhibitions were lowered?”

“Kawa-chan, you _deviant._ ”

“Kawa-chan, you _pervert._ ”

“That is _it!”_ Tooru cries, making to lunge at them across the table. Koushi stops him with an arm around his front and a raised brow. His eyes are _amused,_ how dare. “Let me at them, Kou-chan! I’ll lower my inhibitions on their _faces!_ Bastards promised to _behave._ ”

Makki and Mattsun only shrug. “In our defense,” Makki drawls. “We have very powerful personalities.”

“We cannot be contained,” Mattsun nods sagely.

“Kawa-chan can’t suppress us with his puny behavioral standards.”

“Poor Kawa-chan, pulling his hair out trying to control all of _this._ ”

_“I’ll kill you, motherfuckers!”_

A beer tankard slams down the table. It’s the only warning Tooru gets before a familiar fist bangs onto the top of his head. “You, sit!” Iwa-chan commands, pointing at him. Tooru whimpers pitifully while Iwa-chan swiftly delivers the exact same treatment to Makki and Mattsun - “You and you, stay!” - who both cower back to nurse the newly-minted bumps in their head.

Then he turns to Koushi, who is now staring at him with undisguised _awe._ “Sorry, Suga,” he says gruffly. “I usually have them better trained than this.”

Koushi’s eyes are shining. “Iron Fist.”

“Ah,” Iwa-chan says, scratching his head embarrassedly. “It’s Hitokiri Battousai, actually.”

“ _So cool,_ ” Koushi breathes reverently.

“Well, _hello,_ ” Tooru says, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. “Would you guys like to get a room?”

“Jealousy is such an ugly emotion, Tooru,” Koushi replies breezily, dismissing him with a wave. “But at the same time, look those _biceps._ ”

Tooru’s mouth drops.

Iwa-chan flushes and then proceeds to try to drown himself in beer.

Makki and Mattsun burst out laughing. “Suga-chan is wild,” Makki declares, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes.

Koushi smiles crookedly. “I don’t know about _wild._ ” He snatches at Tooru’s arm and curls around it, undeterred by the fact that Tooru is currently very hurt right now, and also mad, and trying to shake his grip off. Which, admittedly, is kinda hard to do while simultaneously trying to look the other way from Koushi. But he’s allowed to sulk, okay. Koushi is _his_ fake boyfriend. Koushi should be noticing _his_ biceps.

Because he has biceps.

Well, he _does._

He’s an athlete, of course he has biceps. He’s just lean. It’s not his fault. It’s genetics. It’s also very attractive.

Long and lean is sexy. That’s a fact. It’s in his fanpage.

Also Tumblr.

There’s a tag and everything.

“But yesterday, I _was_ up all night making sweet, sweet love to your friend here, Kawa-chan,” Koushi continues, patting at his arm, obviously trying to beg for forgiveness. “Won’t you bless our relationship?”

Well... he’ll just have to beg some more, the little traitor. Never let it be said that Oikawa Tooru is _easy._

“Welcome to the family!” Makki cries. “You’ve already met our daddy, and our baby, so really all that’s left is the sacred family motto-”

“Wait, who’s the baby?” Tooru demands immediately. If this is going where he thinks this is going, he’s going to have to shut that shit down real quick. He’s not just going to sit here and let himself get insulted by these fuckers in front of his fake boyfriend. No fucking way.

Mattsun wiggles his brows, completely _ignoring_ him. “But isn’t it a little too late for _that?_ ”

“ _Who’s the baby?”_ Tooru repeats frantically, getting up in protest. Iwa-chan glares at him from across the table and raises Battousai, which makes Tooru grudgingly sit back down and pout, muttering ungracious things about people with _biceps_.

“What’s the family motto?” Koushi naively asks because he doesn’t know any better.

“The family that buys condoms together doesn’t get accidentally pregnant,” Makki and Mattsun automatically intone at the same time in that grave, robotic voice they use that makes it sound more creepy than, say, wise.

Koushi blinks. “Um.”

He glances at Iwa-chan, who only rolls his eyes. Tooru repeats it as mockingly as he can under his breath, also rolling his eyes because he’s still mad. Don’t think he doesn’t know who they were oh so subtly slandering just a while ago. He _knows._ And he’ll have vengeance someday, just wait.

Koushi looks at them all uncertainly before he finally settles with, “I don’t think that’s the motto, exactly.”

“It’s not?” Mattsun asks, genuinely disturbed.

“So, wait, Oikawa’s _not_ pregnant?”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Tooru screeches, pointing at Makki’s leering face. “I’m a _man!”_

Makki points at him back. “I mean, aren’t fits of hysteria a symptom of pregnancy?”

“Honestly?” Iwa-chan says dryly, finally recovered from his brief, conspicuous affair with Tooru’s fake boyfriend. “I think that’s seriously just Oikawa.”

“Wow!” Tooru throws his free hand up in the air in disbelief. “I’m just getting betrayed by everyone on this table today!”

Koushi strokes down the length of his arm in response, sending his attention skittering. “I’m sorry, Tooru,” he says beseechingly. “Forgive me?”

Thus saying, he nudges his nose against Tooru’s chin. The casual intimacy makes Tooru’s bones _tingle._ He looks down at Koushi and his huge doe eyes. They’re so close, he can pick out the flecks of gold in them, even in the bar’s dim light. He looks harmless. Innocent. Actual angel on earth Sugawara Koushi who could do no wrong.

“I-“ This is so _unfair._ “Of course, Kou-chan,” he agrees dazedly.

So, actually, just for the sake of accurate records, let it be said that Oikawa Tooru is, in fact, fucking easy.

Tooru’s never been more grateful for Makki and Mattsun, who’ve started throwing nuts at them so Tooru can jerk his eyes away.

He smiles helplessly, in what he hopes is a _love, huh, what can you do_ type of thing, but across the table, Iwa-chan’s face is completely unreadable.

  


* * *

  


Surprisingly enough, it’s working.

It’s shaved several years off of Koushi’s lifespan, sure, but it’s working. They all seem convinced, which is a relief. If Koushi’s going to be busy trying to piece his broken heart together when this is all over, it might as well be a successful venture.

Even though every time Koushi takes Tooru’s hand, it’s a starburst of feeling but at the same time, there’s a voice in the back his of head saying, _you don’t get to keep this._

Even though every time he curls into Tooru and buries his face in his neck, lips hovering over his skin, he shakes with want and then instantly after, has to actively remind himself, _not yours._

Even though it feels like little deaths every time they touch because Tooru doesn’t think _anything_ of it, this closeness, just goes on with the show to laugh with his friends and argue and tease, when to Koushi it means more than he even has words to say. When it feels like his first taste of water after he’s spent so long depriving himself from the oasis that had been close enough to touch, like his first full meal in years after he’s learned to satisfy himself with just the scraps, and Tooru-

-doesn’t even notice.

But then again, what’s he been expecting, really, that they’d act the way lovers do and then suddenly Tooru will realize that he’s been staring his one true love in the face all this time?

Of course not.

He’s not living in one of Iwaizumi's mangas. The doki-doki hearts aren’t just going to suddenly erupt all over the frame of Koushi’s life just because he’s being as lovelorn and pathetic as a main character. And obviously, Tooru isn’t exactly the ideal main love interest either, so there.

Still.

Still, sometimes it’s a struggle - when their faces are close and Tooru is looking at him with all his focus, blushing the way he does, lips parted _just so_ \- it’s a struggle to tell himself that none of it is real.

Koushi feels it - pieces of his heart splintering in his chest, gently maybe, but a softened blow is still a blow.

It hurts every time.

He stares after Tooru as he gets dragged to the bar by Iwaizumi. He looks happy. Carefree. Content. And it’s everything he’s ever wanted for Tooru to look so-

So.

_Worth it, I guess._

“Yo.”

He turns back to the table to face Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Their faces are oddly serious. He shifts uneasily. He’s spent time with Tooru’s high school friends before. They’re fun. Koushi likes them. They’ve certainly teamed up enough times to tease Tooru to tears. But they’re Tooru’s friends first, just like how Yui and everyone else from the orchestra were Koushi’s friends first. He’s not really sure how to act around them when they’re like this, especially without Tooru there, too.

But when in doubt, smile. “Yes?”

“If you compare the number of years we’ve all known him,” Hanamaki starts, as humorless as Koushi has ever seen him. “Then we probably have no right to tell you this.”

“But don’t break his heart, would you?” Matsukawa finishes for him, just as solemnly.

Koushi stares, frozen.

They stare back, equally as frozen.

And then abruptly, as if they realized how out of character they’re being, they slouch back in their seats. “I mean,” Matsukawa adds almost lazily, a complete turnaround of his previous demeanor. “Oikawa will cry and cry and cry and who do you think has to wipe his snot? And then he’ll have little hissy fits everywhere like the princess that he is, and we’ll have to acknowledge our friendship with him in _public?”_

“And be _nice_ to him?” Hanamaki continues, looking appalled at the thought. “And actually tell him _good_ things about himself? And find redeeming qualities in his personality to compliment? That’s horrible.”

“ _Horrible,_ ” Matsukawa echoes. “He doesn’t even _have_ redeeming qualities in his personality to compliment, do you know how hard that will be on us?”

“Very hard.”

“We’ll have to _lie._ ”

“We’re usually very honest men.”

“Nothing but the truth and all that.”

“My system will rebel.”

“I’ll throw up in my mouth.”

“You can’t do that to us, Suga-chan,” Hanamaki concludes definitively. “We’ll never forgive you.”

_Oh,_ Koushi thinks, warmth bleeding into his smile. It’s kind of cute. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are Tooru’s friends first, after all. And even though they spend the majority of their time being friends insulting him every other breath, they care for him. They love him. They don’t want Koushi to break his heart. And they’ll never forgive him if he does.

Tooru has really good friends, too.

And Koushi can tell them many things. They look so sincere that he _wants_ to. Tell them that he’s loved Tooru for the longest time. That there’s nothing he wants more than for Tooru to be happy. That they don’t ever have to worry about him straying because every other guy in the world stands in Tooru’s shadow.

That, if this was real, he’d fight like hell to keep Tooru’s heart whole in his hands.

Koushi can tell them all those things, but it’s too close to the truth to ever be said aloud.

(Because Tooru hadn’t given Koushi his heart to break. Because it might have been safe, in his hands, but it’s not there.)

They’ll see.

They’ll be able to tell.

Tooru might find out.

It would ruin _everything._

So Koushi just pours as much of his emotions as he can to, “I won’t,” and hopes it’s enough.

  


* * *

  


“What the fuck are you doing, Shittykawa?”

“Well, Iwa-chan,” Tooru answers, tapping his fingers against the counter impatiently. “Right now, I’m trying to score some drinks from that bartender over there, but he’s too busy flirting with his customers to notice-“

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Iwa-chan cuts in sternly. There’s something in his voice that makes Tooru look at him. And then he wishes he hadn’t. Iwa-chan’s eyes look like they’re piercing through Tooru’s flimsy facade and seeing right to his soul, two sharp spears of green.

There’s a sinking feeling in Tooru’s chest. “No, I don’t,” he says carefully.

Iwa-chan’s eyes narrow. Tooru apprehensively tries to keep up the good face but it’s hard. After Koushi, Iwa-chan is the person who knows him the most. And unlike Koushi, Iwa-chan knows his deep, not-really-dark secret.

Finally, Iwa-chan sighs, leaning against the bar and looking as if Tooru has just made him age ten years. “You know, back then,” he says, softly enough that it’s almost private, even surrounded with people as they are. “I broke up with you, Tooru, because I couldn’t compete with someone who’s already won.”

Tooru draws back, as if he’s been punched. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that but he also doesn’t like being reminded of the real reason why he and Iwa-chan broke up. When people used to ask, Tooru usually came up with outrageous excuses, like how he couldn’t handle anymore of that awful snoring, or that bara arms can only let him get away with so much bad attitude, or the _irreconcilable differences_ bullshit he’d fed Koushi. But, really-

He’d met Iwa-chan in Seijoh.

They didn’t like each other at first because Iwa-chan was even meaner back then, probably due to, you know, teenage hormones. And first year high school Tooru was forever throwing tantrums, because it’s the first time he and Koushi had been separated by _school_ , something he couldn’t really fight against even if he tried. They didn’t... mix well, to say the least. But gradually, with the help of volleyball, they learned to get along, become a pair, be one as a _team._ Sure, they still fought a lot. But they also respected each other.

Tooru had been Iwa-chan’s first not-friends with ‘actually-it’s-hate-sex’ benefits. He can’t even say how it happened, exactly. Just that one moment they were fighting in the locker room - because Iwa-chan wanted him to _go home already, I have to lock up, fucking try being more considerate, Crappykawa_ , and Tooru was yelling exactly where he wanted Iwa-chan to shove his goddamn _keys_ \- then the next they were making out against said door.

They were very passionate lovers, him and Iwa-chan.

Then somehow, they ended up dating for real.

And Tooru had really tried, with Iwa-chan. Because loathe as they were to admit it, they actually did become really good friends somewhere between one argument and the next. Tooru really hadn’t wanted to mess things up. It helped, of course, that Koushi didn’t even go to the same school, and when he found out they were dating, he’d made himself scarce to give them space.

Tooru had really thought it was working out.

Until one day, Iwa-chan had sat him down and said, “You’re in love with Sugawara, aren’t you?”

That was first year of university.

Koushi had nursed him through the heartbreak, the way he always nursed Tooru through heartbreaks - with Ancient Aliens documentaries and ice cream, and humming him to sleep with one of his complicated symphonies, except this one Tooru knows because it’s his favorite. Jupiter. Koushi had learned it special, just for Tooru.

He’d worried a lot, because Tooru had been so devastated. And Tooru had let himself bask in Koushi’s care without ever really explaining that the reason he’d been so shaken was not only because he and Iwa-chan were such good friends, but also because Iwa-chan had been the first person to say aloud what Tooru had known all along.

No one could ever really measure up to Koushi.

And, if that’s the case, how the hell was he ever going to be _happy?_ If he’s always just going to be dating around, never able to find someone who’ll erase Koushi’s face in his mind and make him stop trying to cling to the fringes of Koushi’s heart?

There’s never going to be _anyone._

But what else could he do? It wasn’t like he had any other _choice._ He was just going to hope and hope and hope and he’d get disappointed _everytime._ That’s what his life will be like - in ten years, twenty, _forever_ \- because he’d been stupid enough to fall in love with his best friend.

It had opened up a well of black despair Tooru hadn’t known how to claw his way out of.

When he’d finally gotten a grip back on himself, Tooru had slammed a fist on the table and declared no more. He wasn’t dating any more friends. Too messy, he’d said, he didn’t want to deal with that kind of emotional fallout ever again.

And Koushi had looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and told him that romcoms could have taught him that, didn’t he know? As if he couldn’t care less, either way.

Why would he?

He’s not in love with Tooru.

“W-well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? Are you proud of me, Iwa-chan?” He throws up a peace sign for good measure. He’s trying to go for flippant, but it probably doesn’t go over well, judging from the look on Iwa-chan’s face.

“I would,” Iwa-chan raises an eyebrow. “If it was real.”

Busted, just like that. Tooru sinks to the counter, exhaling heavily into his arms. “How’d you know?”

“The same way I found out the first time,” Iwa-chan says and when Tooru shoots him a questioning look, he sighs and makes the face that he uses only when he thinks Tooru’s being particularly hopeless.

“You looked at him a certain way, before,” he elaborates wearily. “Like there’s nothing else you could want more, and it’s a terrible thing, because you’d never get to have him. You still look at him like that. You wouldn’t have to, if it was real.”

“It was an accident,” Tooru admits to his hands. “I just took advantage of it. It’s technically not even my fault.”

“You’re a dumbass, so it probably was.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

Iwa-chan gives him that _you’re completely hopeless_ look again. “So,” he says, folding his arms against his chest. “What the fuck are you doing, exactly?”

“It’s a scheme, okay!” Tooru bursts out, looking at Iwa-chan challengingly. “I got it all planned out! So first, Koushi’s just gonna think it’s pretend, right? But then, I’m gonna wine and dine him and be so charming that he’ll stop trying to look for other men, because I’m obviously the best option, full stop-“

“That’s the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Rude! Just so you know, Iwa-chan, it’s working already.”

Iwa-chan glances at their booth, where Koushi is looking on bemusedly at whatever Makki and Mattsun are saying. Then he turns back to look at Tooru skeptically.

“It is!” Tooru asserts. “Just watch, I’ll have him falling for me in no time. You’ll eat your fucking words. It’s not a shitty plan.”

“So it’s just a crappy plan?” Iwa-chan says coolly. “Doesn’t exactly make it sound better.”

“Iwa-chan! So _rude_ ,” Tooru childishly brings his hands down against the counter. “I thought you would support me on this. You guys were the ones who always kept on telling me to just confess in the first place!”

“We wanted you to stop fucking around! Where in that sentence did we say _fuck up even more_ , dumbass?”

“I’m not fucking it up! It’s _working._ ”

“What if it’s not?” And Iwa-chan says it so quietly that Tooru’s outrage simmers down immediately. “What if it doesn’t work? What are you going to do then? Can you come back from this? Will you be okay with going back to being just friends if, when this is over, you don’t get what you want?”

“I-“ Tooru pauses. Breathes. Looks away from Iwa-chan’s eyes that see too much.

“Tooru,” Iwa-chan starts cautiously, speaking with a tone he ever rarely uses with Tooru, and one he hasn’t for a very long time. It’s a tone that has Tooru’s hands clenching into fists on the cool bar top, shaking with suppressed frustration.

It’s the same tone he used, back then, when he’d asked Tooru if he was in love with Koushi. _Like there’s nothing else you can want more_ , he said mere moments ago. _And it’s a terrible thing._

That tone, it’s called pity.

Because Iwa-chan thinks he’ll break his own heart.

_No._

_Don’t pity me._

Tooru lifts his chin, stubbornness lining his veins like steel. “I did it with you, didn’t I?”

Iwa-chan’s face sets, “You didn’t love me like that.” It’s not bitter when Iwa-chan says it, only matter of fact, because it’s true. No matter how hard Tooru had tried, it’s true. They both know it. Even now, he still can’t imagine loving someone else the way he loves Koushi.

And maybe that had been heartbreaking before, but now he has this opportunity. It might be the shittiest opportunity available, with every potential to go wrong in a million different ways, but it’s more than he’s ever had before.

_Don’t pity me._

Not now, when he finally has a chance.

He looks at Iwa-chan with all the single-minded firmness of high school Tooru swearing that he’s going to take down Ushiwaka if it was the last thing he did. “Maybe I can’t,” he says. “But maybe I won’t have to, either. Because now that I’ve decided to hit it, Iwa-chan, I’m gonna hit it until it breaks.”

Iwa-chan observes him for a long moment. Snorts. He looks... grudgingly impressed? Which, _mean_ , there’s no need to be grudging about it. Or surprised, for that matter. Tooru is very impressive. Also a fact. He resists the the urge to stick out his tongue, but only because that might make Iwa-chan less charitable to the cause.

“Do what you want, Shittykawa.”

Then he raises his gaze and instantly catches the attention of the bartender Tooru has been _waiting on_ for the past few minutes.

Tooru’s in a good enough mood to let it go.

But just this once, universe.

  


* * *

  


“- _so good_ of you to get together when you did. We literally didn’t have this much cash in our hands since that time we sold Iwa-chan’s autograph on the internet-“

A shadow falls onto the table and the three of them look up to see Iwaizumi smiling in the exact same way Daichi usually does right before the evil aura would overflow. Koushi’s seen it enough times to know. It’s a smile that rings warning bells. “Did you just say,” Iwaizumi says calmly, civilly, settling his glass down on the table with an ominous thud. “That you sold my autograph over the _internet?”_

“Ah,” Matsukawa sighs fondly. “Those were the days.”

“We lived off of the excitability of fujoshis for _weeks_ ,” Hanamaki gleefully informs them all, obviously not well-attuned to his self-preserving primal instincts.

“Good times,” Matsukawa nods, still with that shit-eating little grin.

“You little _shits_ ,” Iwaizumi advances on them threateningly. “I’ve been paying your tab for the past _two days_ , I want my money _back!”_

“This is this and that is that!” Hanamaki protests, as he and Matsukawa slide out of the booth, slippery as eels.

“But isn’t it your responsibility to feed your children, Daddy?” Matsukawa adds, which is probably not the smartest decision that he could have made in this situation. Koushi can practically see the steam coming out of Iwaizumi’s ears. He says something in a low voice that has the other two snickering away, calling, “Is Daddy gonna punish us for being naughty?” as they flee, Iwaizumi stomping after them, rolling his sleeves and raising Battousai.

Beside him, Tooru sidles close, gently lacing their fingers together. His thumb traces across Koushi’s knuckles almost absently, a lingering path of heat. He drops a quick kiss at the crown of Koushi’s head and Koushi has never felt more alive, at about the exact same time that he feels like he’s dying.

But Tooru is happy.

_Worth it, worth it, worth it_ , he chants in his head, letting himself relax, and squeezing Tooru’s hand. His fingers are long and slender, but strong and calloused - an athlete’s fingers, a constant, living trophy of Tooru’s dedication to his sport that’s led him to where he is now. Koushi remembers eight-year-old Tooru, barely even reaching the bottom of the net, tossing a volleyball in his backyard and breaking flower pots. Now he’s tossing volleyballs on the world stage and breaking records.

Like always when he thinks about Tooru and volleyball, pride blooms like a flower in Koushi’s chest, thoughts clamoring for space in the forefront of his mind.

_He’s amazing._

_The best._

_He’s going to lead Japanese volleyball to its golden age._

_Incredible._

_I love him._

_Maybe I don’t get to keep him, but I love him._

“Kou-chan?”

Koushi turns his head, humming questioningly, still in that headspace of happiness for his best friend. And then Tooru says something that grinds all his thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Let’s go out on a date soon, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hitokiri Battousai (Battousai the Manslayer) is Iwaizumi Hajime’s left fist. It’s also Himura Kenshin from Samurai X. Why is his left fist named that, you ask? That’s because it _defeats._ But it does not kill. (I’m so sorry for myself OTL)
> 
> \- Makki and Mattsun are actually Good Noodles, but you did not hear that from me. Also, not even I know what’s going on with the both of them so don’t ask me.
> 
> \- Jupiter is the fourth movement of an orchestral suite called The Planets by Gustav Holst, where every movement is named after - you guessed it - a planet. It’s an obvious favorite for Oikawa. Suga’s never played the suite with any orchestra as of yet, he really did seek it out just because he thought Oikawa might like it. He’s a sappy Nerd, is basically what I’m saying.
> 
> \- Iwa is a mangaka! He writes unbelievably sappy stories that completely sells out to the female demographic. Then he branched out to BL, and _that_ story just recently got serialized and is also surprisingly very popular. Kyoutani does beta for him because Iwa’s the only one he ever listens to. There’s seriously no other reason. They just got stuck together, honest. Not like Iwa likes him, or anything. No way. It’s called hate sex for a reason.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define denial


	5. define denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> denial - ~~a river in Egypt~~ the action of declaring something to be untrue; the refusal of something requested or desired; withholding
> 
> In other words: This is going to work out. Koushi will handle it. Koushi will come out of it completely not screwed and definitely _not_ a hundred levels more in love with Tooru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just filling this fic up with all the tropes and I'm not even sorry c:

“I can’t _believe_ that he got the meet-the-friends meeting before we got the meet-the-friends meeting.”

They’re having lunch.

Yui is glaring at him from over her melon bread and Kiyoko is judgily sipping her tea. Koushi’s not entirely sure how one judgily sips one’s tea, exactly, but that’s Kiyoko. Daichi and Asahi aren’t eating with them for obvious reasons - it’s like a messy divorce when they’re off-again; Koushi, Kiyoko and Asahi have to draw lots to see who is with who on what day - but they’re probably also sending judgemental vibes from wherever they disappeared to.

Koushi looks up from his bento, unimpressed. “May I remind you, Yui,” he sniffs. “That you have _already_ met Oikawa Tooru, and that you’ve known him for almost a decade now?” And also of the fact that she knows it’s a fake relationship so he can’t understand why she’s so upset. He gets that she’s trying to play along, but this just seriously takes the cake.

Koushi has far more urgent problems.

Of course, he can’t exactly say that with Kiyoko here, but still. He’s communicating it. Telepathically.

“He wasn’t your boyfriend for all that time, Koushi,” Kiyoko says, throwing a wrench into Koushi’s righteously offended stance. “I think we all agree that this needs another official meet the friends meeting.”

“We just need to ask him about his intentions,” Yui adds decisively.

“You don’t have to worry about that, he has absolutely _no_ intentions,” Koushi assures them, shooting Yui a warning glance.

“If he’s dating you, and he has no intentions,” Kiyoko’s glasses glint in the fluorescent light. “Then we have a problem.”

“Doesn’t he have plans for your future as a couple?” Yui continues, obviously not intimidated. “Is he making you feel not wanted, Kou?”

Kiyoko casually spears through a pickle with her chopsticks. “Already, hm?”

“Personally, I thought he’d screw up earlier than this, so he actually exceeded my expectations.”

“I just knew he’d screw up eventually.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Koushi sighs into his rice. “And you guys wonder why I don’t let you get the meet-the-friends meeting.”

“Oh, because his friends are just so much nicer than us, are they?” Yui challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“As a matter of fact,” Koushi replies. “They are.”

“I spoke to Matsukawa-san once,” Kiyoko notes tonelessly, adjusting her glasses so they glinted in a different, but no less menacing, way. “And he asked me if I wore the leather jacket I was wearing that day as a silent form of protest against a world dominated by men, most of whom still value feminine beauty over feminine strength, or if I wore it because I thought it made my boobs look bigger.”

Silence.

This is, apparently, not the reaction Kiyoko wants. “He said _boobs_ ,” she emphasizes, voice dry. “That’s a direct quote.”

“He _is_ a psychologist,” Koushi defends. “They call that psychoanalyzing, Kiyo.”

“No, Koushi, that is not called psychoanalysis,” she declares firmly. “That is called sexual harassment.”

Yui giggles into her bread and Koushi groans, burying his face in the circle of his arms. He really needs to find new friends.

“So we are agreed?” No, they are _not_ agreed. “Ask to him to dinner tonight, Koushi. The least he can do is introduce himself.”

_Ohmygod._

They’re _enjoying_ this. Yui, especially, who’s been having a ‘coughing fit’ to hide bouts of her laughter for the past five minutes now. But he can’t let them sit down to dinner to try and intimidate Tooru. He just can’t. And it’s not because he thinks they’re bad friends that shouldn’t be allowed on their own with his potential partner or anything.

...Actually, they really shouldn’t, but still. He loves them. They’re an important part of his life. If he had a real boyfriend, he wouldn’t hesitate to have them meet him - right away, even, if that’s what they wanted.

But that’s the thing.

Tooru _isn’t_ his real boyfriend.

Imagine them sitting down to dinner and Kiyoko nonchalantly raising a carving knife or a chopping knife or even a tiny dessert knife, asking Tooru what he thought he’d been doing all these years, taking so long, fucking around, stringing Koushi along _when he hasn’t._ Tooru had never, not once, given Koushi any indication that he wants him back. Koushi’s the one who’s desperately hanging on, secretly harboring his love and not letting go. That’s not Tooru’s fault. That’s all on Koushi. Tooru doesn’t even know.

One word out of Kiyoko’s mouth, or Daichi’s well-meaning shovel talks or Asahi accidentally saying something, and all Koushi’s efforts to hide it away will have been for nothing.

His friends are dangerous. That dinner is a big minefield of truth that Koushi is not, and will probably never be, ready for Tooru to face. “I can’t.”

“Koushi-“

“I have a date tonight,” he blurts out, as if he’d actually forgotten _that_ catastrophe in the making.

Yui raises her eyebrows.

Kiyoko raises her eyebrows.

Koushi raises his eyebrows. “What? I can have d-dates with Tooru.” God, that had taken so much more out of him to force out than he thought. “Because... he’s my boyfriend,” he finishes weakly.

“Is that so?” Kiyoko asks blandly.

“We’re going to see a movie.” _Fuck_ , a _movie._ Darkness. Retractable arm rests. Possibly surrounded by other couples making out. It’s going to be a fucking disaster.

“Just a movie?”

“And... dinner?” And _dinner._ A fancy restaurant. A table for two with floral centerpieces. Possibly _also_ surrounded by other couples, this time feeding each other. Basically, an incoming trainwreck.

“At a reputable institution?”

“Kiyoko,” Koushi looks at her with narrowed eyes. “I think you’re having just a little bit _too much_ fun with this and you need to be stopped.”

Which only makes the corners of Kiyoko’s mouth quirk up, as if Koushi has never been more amusing. Koushi can’t decide which part of his day is worse - this particular stimulating piece of conversation or his future car crash of a date that he’d been stupid enough to say _okay_ to.

_Ohmygod,_ a _date._ Granted, it’s a date that’s for the benefit of Tooru’s fangirls but even so, it’s a Movie and Dinner. A date that practically everyone in the world has gone on, and after tonight, it’s gonna be everyone in the world plus Koushi and Tooru.

_You know what else happens in the end of these cliche first dates?_ that little voice in Koushi’s mind that he wishes he can strangle just once whispers. _The goodbye kiss._

The date is worse.

Definitely the date.

Yui’s phone chimes with a message, cutting Koushi off from his thoughts. She scowls down at the screen and chucks it back into her bag, turning back to her lunch grumpily.

Kiyoko glances at where the phone landed for a moment, before shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see the day where Koushi’s love life would be more sorted out than _your_ love life, Yui.”

Yui pouts, “ _Kiyo,_ ” though she doesn’t say anything else.

After all, neither she nor Koushi have a leg to stand on against Kiyoko when it comes to relationships. Between the three of them, it’s Kiyoko alone who has an actually functioning one. Her girlfriend, Yacchan, dances in the _corps_ for the National Ballet of Japan. They met when the Tokyo Philharmonic played for her company’s winter performance. It was _Nutcracker,_ she was a flower. They bumped into each other and became entangled in her garland, because of course they’d have an only-happens-in-movies kind of meet-cute. That was two years ago, and they’re still going strong.

In contrast, Koushi is currently about to go on his first date with the person he’s been pining after for what feels like forever now.

A first date, that also happens to be fake.

_Why me?_

But then again, Koushi has no business asking for any kind of sympathy, because he _agreed_ to this.

If there’s anyone else who’s ever been so pathetic in the name of love, Koushi will eat his hand.

Kiyoko is wrong.

Koushi’s love life is not sorted out _at all._

  


* * *

  


_Okay, me,_ Koushi says to his reflection on his bathroom mirror. _This is the plan._

Since Koushi’s rehearsal ended much earlier than Tooru’s practice today, Koushi has spent ten minutes furiously texting Tooru that it’s _totally okay_ for them to just meet in the movie theater. No home pick-up means no chance for basically _any_ situation where Tooru could lean against his doorway and look long and sexy. And, in case Tooru takes this date thing a little bit too seriously, that means no chance for possible flower-giving scenarios either.

He nods to himself, satisfied.

Score one for Koushi.

When he gets to the theater, he’d pick the least romantic movie possible and also buy everything. The tickets, the snacks, _everything._ No way is Tooru paying for a single thing so Koushi can’t swoon at his... his _chivalry_ or _gentlemanliness_ or other some such ridiculous nonsense his mind could conjure up in situations like that.

Yes.

Koushi is getting more and more confident with this plan.

Inside the theater, he’ll treat it just like their movie marathons. Just your average, everyday friend bonding activity with couples occasionally making out to the left. They don’t have to touch. It’s dark, anyway. Fangirls won’t be able to get images inside. Retractable arm rests don’t have to be retracted. Koushi will buy a big tub of popcorn that he’s going to make last for the entire movie. It’s going to be wasabi flavored. Very delicious. His hands will be completely occupied. Also his mouth. Not that he’s expecting anything so drastic as a kiss in a movie theater but it’s good to be prepared for any eventuality.

And the dinner is just like any other time they ate together. As friends. So what if there’s some additional candlelight and mood music and _atmosphere?_ Food is food.

This is going to work out.

Koushi will handle it.

Koushi will come out of it completely not screwed and definitely _not_ a hundred levels more in love with Tooru.

He has a plan.

Koushi chews on his bottom lip.

Maybe he also needs a mantra.

_This is not for real,_ he composes in his head as he flips through his clothes. _We’re friends. This is a friend-date. As in a date but not really that you have with your friends. It’s happened before. To a lot of friends. And it’s totally not romantic at all, no matter how many romantic moments you actually find yourself in because you’re pretending for the public and it’s_ Tooru-

That’s a little too much for a mantra. Koushi discards another shirt. He’ll work on it. He spends an ungodly amount of time flipping through his clothes before he abruptly stops.

_What are you doing?_ he asks himself. It’s not a real date. He doesn’t have to look good. It’s not like he has anyone to impress. Tooru knows what he looks like and if he hasn’t been impressed all these years, he certainly won’t be impressed now.

...But there’s going to be pictures, won’t there? Tooru’s fangirls - who are _everywhere,_ they’re like ants - would be surreptitiously photographing them, won’t they? And then those pictures would get put up online, wouldn’t they? And then they can even end up in the tabloids, can’t they?

If Koushi’s face is going to be plastered in every trashy sports mag in the country, he might as well wear something flattering.

It’s not that he cares to look attractive in front of Tooru or anything. It’s not a date. They’re friends. Tooru will never want to be more. He’s not doing outrageous things to try to grab at Tooru’s attention. This is just about looking good in front of Japan.

That’s completely reasonable, right?

Right.

Good.

Okay.

Now, where are his tightest pair of jeans?

  


* * *

  


The movie poster features dying people and blood. Lots of blood. It’s horrible. It’s B-rated and probably trashy. It’s promising to be two hours of his life he will never get back. Koushi doesn’t want to watch it.

He runs his gaze critically over the rest of the movie posters, all sporting somewhat similar pictures of couples kissing in the street, a train station, a pool and a hot air balloon. Then, he turns back to the gory poster and decides that it’s going to be two hours of his life well-spent if it meant he didn’t have to start this date off watching sappy films that will make Tooru cry and Koushi feel sentimental.

Koushi sighs for the millionth time. But he sucks it up and buys the tickets anyway, pretending to be super enthusiastic when the lady in the cash register looks him over, with his nice shirt and his nice jeans, and asks him if he’s sure. It’s not the easiest decision he’s ever made by any means, but that is why things like this are called sacrifice.

It doesn’t help matters, of course, when he falls in line with group of people who all seem to be in a massive group date. A pair of them are shyly holding hands and blushing right in front of Koushi’s eyes.

Just... why?

Koushi is all for puppy love and everything, but can’t they cut the PDA until they’re safely ensconced in their theater with their chick flick kissing location of choice, where Koushi doesn’t have to see? He already feels bad enough. Why does the universe always seem to have to drive his misery home?

Someone, somewhere has a seriously sick sense of humor, laughing at Koushi’s life like this.

“Two, please,” he says, just as two girls beside him start gossiping to each other about their respective dates.

“- _such_ a gentleman!” one of them gushes, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“And he bought everything for me?” brags the other one. “He’s so _romantic!”_

Koushi’s blood freezes in his veins.

His gaze drops down to his two cups of soda that he’s just bought for him and Tooru. Then back to the two girls, one of whom is still raving about how her date bought her ticket, her drinks, _everything._ Then back to his two cups of soda.

...Is it maybe possible that this part of the plan just completely backfired on him and instead, made this date problem _more romantic_ than it had to be?

“-and I said he didn’t have to spend all this money on me, but he told me I was worth it because my happiness was _priceless_ -“

Shit.

Just paying for himself should have been the way to go all along! Nothing would have made the message that this is just a friend-date clearer than just paying for himself. Who even put this thought in his head? How did this idea even get past his mental filters? Now he has two of everything and Tooru is going to be all _Oh, Kou-chan, you didn’t!_ complete with a big _I’m so romanced!_ snuggle because they’re supposed to _touch a lot_ in public now.

And Koushi won’t even be sure if he actually means it or if he’s just acting because that’s how it is when you’re fake dating your best friend.

His plan is already falling apart and the date hasn’t even started yet.

Damnit.

Koushi wants to slap himself, crawl into a hole and just _die._

And of course, because Koushi’s life is basically the butt of a joke all the time now, Tooru chooses that very moment to make his entrance.

It’s heralded by the screams of girls, as usual. There’s an entire posse of them, trailing after Tooru like sheep, wanting pictures and autographs and a chance to speak with the great Oikawa-san.

Not that he’s ever been a massive follower of volleyball so he might be wrong, but Koushi is pretty sure that no other Japanese volleyball athlete before Tooru has received this amount of fame and media attention. But Tooru is good-looking and charming and brilliant. He’s had a fanclub and been interviewed by the press since his early days in Seijoh. Now that the men’s team is rising in the world rankings, his fanclub has only grown both in size and overall... the nice word for it is zealousness.

Koushi can understand their fascination. Even with the notorious tabloid stories, the image Tooru puts up for the public is appealing and polished to a fault. He has an easy smile, with just a hint of roguishness for that extra edge of sexy, and a cultured demeanor that effectively plants him on the pedestal of Everyone’s Dream Guy.

And Tooru, he’s good at playing that game. He’s gracious and mysterious and untouchable all at once. He opens himself up to the world, without actually letting them see anything at all.

It draws in _everybody._

Even now, Koushi can’t really tell if it’s a good or a bad thing.

He sees the exact moment that Tooru spots him because the mask chips, a little. Tooru’s face lights up and breaks into a bright smile.

Koushi’s heart pounds.

For a moment, as Tooru is disentangling himself from his fangirls and coming over, Koushi forgets. All his plans, all the warnings in his head, everything that has led up to this situation, he forgets. For a moment, Koushi is in a completely different world, where Tooru’s smile upon seeing him is an intimate _there you are,_ where he strides to Koushi with the swift eagerness of _I missed you,_ where he takes Koushi into his arms with the gentle caress of _I love you._ For a moment, he can close his eyes, wrap himself up in cocoa butter and sweat, and bask in the warmth of the surety of Tooru’s love.

For a moment, he’s Koushi’s, Koushi is his and they belong to each other.

For a moment, Koushi loves, and is loved in return.

For a moment, it’s glorious.

Tooru’s fangirls scream.

A moment can only last for so long, after all.

Koushi jerks back to reality, and doesn’t know whether to feel grateful or sorry.

He swallows, _this happiness doesn’t belong to you,_ and looks up. “Tooru,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. “Turn your head down a little bit, there’s some of them taking pictures from over here.”

Tooru’s smile widens almost comically. “Koushi,” he says loudly in his smooth, measured media voice. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

He’s laying it on really thick, basically. Koushi subtly kicks him in the shin, a warning to at least work to seem more natural. “Not in the last hour or so, honey.”

“Then I haven’t been telling you enough,” Tooru responds smoothly. “You are _beautiful,_ sugar.”

Koushi kicks him again. “Don’t _call_ me that,” he hisses furiously.

“You _started_ it, you called me _honey,_ ” Tooru hisses back, just as furiously, still with the big smile painted across his face.

“You seriously want to argue about pet names right now?” Koushi butts his head against Tooru’s chin, passing it off as a romantic nuzzle. “How about sweetieplum? Cuddlepie? Maybe this wouldn’t be a problem if you included it in your _game plan!_ ”

“Where are you even getting these pet names, they’re terrible!” Tooru ‘nuzzles’ right back. “And how many times do I have to say we don’t really need a game plan because I’m a-“

“I’m getting really sick of you saying you’re a good boyfriend!”

“Because I am!”

“You can totally tell that I’m taking this more seriously than you, and it’s _your_ problem!”

“I’m not going to be sorry for having better _acting skills_ -“

“Excuse me, sirs?” a timid voice cuts in their whisper wars. “I’m sorry, but you’re holding up the line.”

They both freeze. Then Tooru catches Koushi’s eye and signals subtly so they can laugh, endearingly shy and sheepish, on cue. “My apologies. You see,” Tooru throws her a charming, repentant look, before looking at Koushi again. He cups Koushi’s face with a warm hand, brushing his thumb against the mole beneath his eye. It’s a tender gesture. Koushi absently leans into the soft pressure of his fingers without even thinking about it. “It’s easy to forget about the world in the face of such beauty.”

The lady in the counter completely falls for it. “Oh, Oikawa-san, of course,” she sighs dreamily and clutches a hand to her heart.

Koushi doesn’t fall for it.

Of course not.

Sure, he’s blushing, but it’s only because of secondhand embarrassment. That was such a _line,_ and Tooru didn’t even try to hide how corny it was. Embarrassing. Tooru shouldn’t be allowed in public. He’s clearly a danger to himself, and also society.

They shuffle off obediently, though, and Koushi smiles and waves while Tooru says goodbye to his fangirls and asks them to ‘respect the privacy of his date.’ He actually said that with a straight face. Koushi is mildly impressed.

He turns back to Koushi, and then beyond - assessing the long line of movie posters behind them. “Ah,” he points at the street kissing couple. “I heard this one is really good.”

It is good. It has five stars underneath the title and apparently made a lot of people cry.

No, thank you.

“Actually, Tooru,” Koushi gestures to the bloody one. “I already bought tickets to this one. I think it’s perfect for us, don’t you?”

Tooru looks at it for a long moment. “Kou-chan,” he breathes, eyes sparkling. He throws himself into Koushi, which makes him stumble back in surprise as Tooru begins to dramatically sob into his neck. “I’ve been wanting to watch this movie for _so long_ but none of my other dates wanted to see it with me because they said it was _bad._ Which is a really mean thing to say! It really hurt my feelings! You’re the only one that understands me, Kou-chan!”

Koushi lets all this happen in a state of shock. He pats at Tooru’s back leadenly as he squints at the poster again, trying to understand exactly where he went spectacularly wrong.

_Oh,_ he thinks. Look at that, there’s a spaceship hiding behind one of those crumbling buildings in the background. It’s an alien invasion movie. Not only that, but it’s a B-rated, trashy alien invasion movie that’s promising to be two wasted hours of Koushi’s life.

In other words, it’s completely Tooru’s type.

_Why is it always me?_

This is so unfair, Koushi did everything right. What kind of bad things did he do in his previous life to deserve this kind of karma? He’s a _good person._ He doesn’t deserve to be punished like this. He has to get a break at least _once_ in a while, he can’t just keep getting the short end of the stick _every_ time.

That’s... _unfair._

But-

Tooru practically vibrates with excitement, eagerly pulling Koushi along, talking a mile a minute about the premise of the movie they’re about to watch and how it’s going to be _so amazing, Kou-chan, you’ll see!_ Koushi stares at their linked hands, fingers tangled like ribbons, and then at Tooru’s face, shining with childish glee. He looks just like he did when they were kids, and he first discovered E.T. Or that time Koushi (halfheartedly) agreed to dress as Star Wars characters one Halloween because all Tooru wanted to be was Chewbacca. Or whenever they sit down to watch Supergirl because Tooru’s favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter.

Not the made-for-public-consumption Tooru but just... _Tooru._

And, even like this, he is still Koushi’s dream guy.

He tightens his hold. Tooru glances back at him and grins, vibrant with life, and Koushi thinks, _I’ll draw the short end of the stick for you, every time._

  


* * *

  


So.

This date so far has been a total _fail._

And if anyone asks him precisely how it came about to become a total fail, Tooru wouldn’t even know where to begin.

First of all, Tooru’s plans for a sexy _I’m picking you up from your apartment, baby_ kind of situation were completely scrapped because Koushi had somehow managed to decide by himself that they should just meet in the cinema instead of going together, then immediately follow it up with all these practical reasons like **it’s near our building, anyway** and **saves money** , literally in the time it took Tooru to finish his sports drink. Tooru didn’t even get a say because the next thing he knew, he’s looking at about two dozen unread messages on his phone, the last of which said, **I’m on my way.**

He had _plans,_ goddamnit.

And then, of course, his fangirls found him before he even made it to the cinema, which, _nice, Tooru,_ there’s seriously no better way to send the message that he’s ready for a long-term, committed relationship than to show up on the first (fake) date with four girls in each arm.

And then Koushi had the _nerve_ to look sexy? That’s supposed to be _Tooru’s_ job. Tooru’s supposed to be the seduct _or,_ not the seduct _ee._ This date is _his_ idea. But _no,_ of course Koushi had to wear his tight jeans and that polo he had that emphasized his lithe torso and brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and Tooru just about self-combusted where he stood.

And _then,_ Koushi just had to buy tickets to the movie Tooru’s been after for almost a _month_ now that nobody else would ever want to see with him, ever. Because clearly, Tooru didn’t have enough reasons to love Koushi. And Koushi had sat with him throughout the entire movie and offered him tissues, even though he was rolling his eyes at every other line. He stayed. He didn’t laugh. He patted Tooru’s hand sympathetically when the main character’s love interest died and in exchange, Tooru pretended that he couldn’t tell that Koushi was fighting back a smile the entire time.

And it’s only when they’re coming out of the theater that Tooru remembers that this movie was not what he planned on them seeing _at all._ It’s not ideal first date material. He’d researched! He was going to casually point out this one movie with reviews like _‘Better than The Notebook!’_ and _‘A masterpiece!’_ and hold Koushi’s hand as _he_ cried. He was going to flirt a little. Make Koushi blush some more. It was going to be awesome.

It was, in fact, _not_ awesome.

(Well, the movie was awesome. It’s everything else that’s a total fail.)

God _damnit._

And now, they’re sitting in a fast food restaurant because it turns out that everywhere else is full.

A _fast food restaurant._

On their _first date._

Tooru glares at his stupid burger and his stupid fries and his stupid cola in his stupid tray.

_I needed you to be on my side_ one time, _universe._

_One time!_

At least, Koushi seems strangely peppy about it. So, there’s that. Even though Tooru can’t exactly understand the appeal of fucking burger and fries when they could be eating French cuisine right now and getting serenaded by a violin.

On second thought, maybe not a violin because Koushi would just either get really jealous that he can’t play or really critical because said jealousy made him catty. But the point stands. Tooru kinda wants to tear his burger into shreds and imagine that it’s fate’s face he’s systematically disintegrating.

Because, for some stupid reason, Tooru just keeps on getting blindsided at each turn and as a result, his date is a _total fail._

But it’s okay.

Tooru can get out of this mess because after _this_ shining little corner of hell and failure, he is going to take Koushi on a walk around the park. It’s just going to be the two of them surrounded by flowers and trees and fireflies, watched over by the stars. Pure Romance. 100% Oikawa Tooru-guaranteed.

There’s still a light at the end of this tunnel and Tooru would be damned if he didn’t run into that light headfirst.

Although maybe he should rethink his metaphors a bit because that last one is a euphemism for death which, obviously, is not the goal.

Tooru glares at his food a lot less intensely now that he’s been mildly appeased and then narrows his eyes. Five seconds ago, he had more fries. “Are you stealing my food?” he asks suspiciously, turning the force of his glare to the only possible culprit.

Koushi retuns his gaze innocently. “No,” and then he slowly brings a fry up to his mouth and takes a deliberate bite.

“Kou-chan!” Tooru pulls his tray closer to himself possessively. “You have your own!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, boyfriend,” Koushi says, carelessly waving Tooru’s fry in the air. “Technically, everything in this table belongs to both of us because we’re boyfriends.”

“No way,” Tooru points at his tray. “I have a tray.” And then, he points at Koushi’s tray. “And you have a tray, and that is why this relationship _works out._ ”

“So does separate trays equal separate lives?” Koushi asks. “Because, I gotta say, I don’t think we want the same things and maybe we should break up.”

“ _Koushi._ Stop trying to break up with me every five seconds.” He pouts, crossing his arms defensively across his chest and quietly adds, “I really am a good boyfriend, you know. Maybe you just need to give me a chance.”

Koushi blinks, startled. His brows furrow, apprehension and confusion chasing each other across his face. For a second, he looks like the rug has been pulled out from under him and he has no idea what to do. Like Tooru has just turned his world upside down. Like Tooru had somehow moved too fast and he’s having a hard time catching up.

Tooru closes his eyes. Breathes. _Don’t be impatient._ Yet another gentle reminder Tooru has to live by if he wants this to work out.

Not so fast.

He has time.

“Because you’ll be sorry if you don’t,” he tacks on quickly. “I have a _fanclub._ They have a waiting list as to who gets first rights to go out with me, and everything. I’m very in-demand because I’m so suave.”

The anxiety bleeds out of Koushi’s face. He lets out a breath that could be a sigh or a laugh or both at the same time. “Tooru, need I remind you that I had to hold your hand through half of your weird movie where little green aliens tried to conquer the earth using the power of ramen?”

“Ramen is getting more and more popular overseas, it’s totally possible.”

“ _Ramen,_ ” Koushi says again, shaking his head. “You’re such a nerd.”

“But I’m-“

“My nerd, yeah, yeah,” Koushi shakes his head again. “Just finish your food.”

“Yes, mom.”

Koushi kicks him underneath the table. Tooru sticks out his tongue in response, and mourns the missed opportunity. He sighs internally. He’s not good at being patient.

But as Koushi grins at him mischievously from across the table and steals yet another fry, Tooru tells himself to try.

If it means that it’ll all work out in the end, he can go as slowly as Koushi wants.

  


* * *

  


Tooru looks.

Closes his eyes.

Looks again.

Remembers that moment in time when he’d thought that he could still somehow save this sorry excuse for a date because of his romantic walk in the park under the night sky.

Well.

It’s.

Fucking.

_Raining._

Tooru’s eye twitches.

This is so far beyond unbelievable, he’s fucking speechless. How is it possible that _everything_ today just went incredibly wrong for him in the most unreasonable ways? How? _How?_

Tooru shakes with the urge to throw a fit right fucking here, in the middle of a public place. That’ll give a brand new twist to his _image_ and _reputation._ Tooru can already see the clickbait headlines. _Tear your hair out, Mizoguchi-san._

He’s not even wearing a jacket, so there’s absolutely no chance for that run-under-the-jacket-in-the-rain kind of scenario, which would have worked out in the romance department just as well as the walk in the park. But how was he supposed to know that it was going to rain? What is he, the weather man? Not that he would have known about it, if he was the weather man, because it didn’t even say in google.

Everything is a failure.

Tooru also kinda wants to burrow himself beneath his covers and just cry for a million years.

“I guess we’ll just take a taxi,” Tooru says, defeatedly trying to extricate his hand from Koushi’s hold.

But Koushi doesn’t let go. In fact, he’s staring up at the rain with a small, impish smile on his face, as if he’s about to let Tooru in on a secret that he’s supposed to keep only to himself. Tooru has to take a moment to just watch him smiling like that, with the shimmering curtain of rain in the background and the soft glow of faraway lights.

He’s beautiful.

“Hey, Tooru,” Koushi says softly. “Our building isn’t all that far.”

Tooru raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, and?”

Koushi’s smile widens. “Remember what we used to do in the rain when we were kids?”

The realization dawns on Tooru. Koushi squeezes his hand and looks at him with his sparkling eyes and his devilish grin and Tooru would have allowed him anything. He squeezes back. “Really?”

“Only if you want.”

“I do want.”

They both stare out at the rain, smiling like idiots. Tooru takes a deep breath. “On three.”

“One.”

“Two-“

Koushi runs, plunging himself into the spray, already laughing.

_You’re supposed to go on three, cheater!_

_It’s called a_ headstart, _Dummykawa!_

Tooru lets himself get pulled along, accepting the shock of the cold and the wetness and the incredulous looks from the people around them who’d known better and brought umbrellas. Tooru lets them fade away, blurred by the rain that’s falling around them all in sheets. Lets himself exist in a place where the only things that matter are the hand in his own and the laughter in his ears.

And slowly, the knot in Tooru’s chest unwinds, all the disappointment and frustration and tension washed away by the water. Suddenly, he’s a kid again, back in that time of his life where happiness came as easily as splashing in the puddles on the street, where worries and fears could be chased away by the light, where he’s _invincible,_ the future stretching out in front of him, open and full of possibilities. Suddenly, he has no limits.

Suddenly, he’s free.

And Koushi, tilting his head up to catch raindrops on his face, Tooru can see the mirage of his younger self, too. With his less angular jaw, still soft with baby fat, and eyes too huge for his face. With a smile always radiant as a thousand suns, and a curious tilt of his head and straightforward compliments he gives without thought - _I like your laugh,_ and _Volleyball looks so cool!_ and _I want to be friends._

Tooru’s heart seizes.

_I love you._

Before, and now. He has Koushi and he’s free and he loves him.

When they make it inside their building, they’re completely soaked. Koushi collapses beside his door tiredly, giggling. Tooru collapses beside him, even with adrenaline still thrumming in his veins, just because he could. He stifles his laugh on Koushi’s shoulder, marvelling still at the easy contact he’s now allowed to have.

“I better have been your best date ever, Tooru, because I’m pretty sure no one else would have done all the things I did with you today-“

“I know,” Tooru says as earnestly as he can. Even after the fangirls and the wrong movie choice and fast food dinner- “You’re my best date.”

He looks at Koushi and smiles.

“Oh,” Koushi meets his eyes and... falters. There’s a hitch in his breath when he says, again, slower and softer as if he didn’t want to let go of the word, “ _Oh._ ”

And it might have been Tooru’s imagination, but for a moment it seemed like Koushi’s gaze had darted to his lips.

_Oh._

It feels like all the warmth in Tooru’s body rushes to his face at that moment, and instantly, he becomes hyperaware of the space between them, and the lack of it. Of Koushi’s wet shirt clinging to his skin, leaving very little to imagination. Of the flush of exertion in Koushi’s face, now darkening to a deeper spill of crimson. Of Koushi eyes, pupils blown, darker than their usual brown. Of Koushi’s lips, parted.

Inviting.

When Tooru cups his face, he shivers. Tooru shivers with him. He doesn’t know how far the moment stretches out, where they stay watching each other, frozen in time, before Koushi relaxes into his touch. His eyes flutter shut, lashes darkened to silver, stuck to wet points by the rain like arrows aiming at the curve of his lips.

_Inviting._

Tooru moves to draw closer, to give in to want, to taste, to _feel_ -

_Don’t be impatient._

-and crashes back down to earth.

This isn’t even a real date, in Koushi’s head. Tooru had said it himself, _for the fans, Kou-chan,_ even though the idea was for Koushi to maybe see what it’s like. To maybe like it. Tooru hadn’t exactly succeeded much with that, and now here he is, about to confuse Koushi even more by pulling a move when he’d promised himself to wait for right time.

Tooru thinks of Koushi’s anxious face, and knows in his heart that this is not the right time.

When Tooru kisses him, he wants Koushi to have absolutely no doubt about the truth of his motives. He wants Koushi to know for sure that Tooru is doing it because he loves him. There’s no other perfect moment except for that, and it’s definitely not going to be a throwaway makeout in a hallway after a _fake_ date that Koushi can reason away.

Oikawa Tooru is _not_ going to settle.

He draws his hand back, and slaps Koushi’s cheek gently. Koushi’s eyes fly open and Tooru smiles. “Mosquito,” he lies, rubbing the injured area apologetically.

Koushi just looks at him for a very long time. He clears his throat. “I should-“ he looks at his apartment door. “It’s cold. We... we should probably go dry off.”

He gets on his feet and Tooru follows, sticking his hands into his wet pockets because he has no idea what do with them. “Thank you, Koushi,” he says softly. “For tonight, thank you.”

“It’s all part of the package,” Koushi turns to fiddle with his doorknob so Tooru can’t see his face, but his voice is teasing and cheerful. “But you owe me big time, I hope you know.”

“I know. Really, Koushi, thank you.”

“Well,” Koushi laughs softly, scuffing his foot against the floor almost bashfully. “It wasn’t that much of a hardship, honestly.” He gives Tooru a small smile over his shoulder. “You’re my best date, too, Tooru.”

And then he disappears inside his apartment.

Tooru is left motionless in the hallway, feeling like he’d just been hit by a sledgehammer, Koushi’s words echoing inside his head.

_You’re my best date, Tooru._

_You’re my best date._

_My best date._

_Best date._

Oikawa Tooru is smooth, suave and sophisticated. Juvenile actions such as dancing around wildly in celebration are so far beneath him, they’re not even in the radar. He’s dignified. He’s poised. He’s debonair.

He allows himself a fist pump, however, and a quick whispered, _“Yes!”_ because even casanovas are allowed to have occasional moments of weakness.

(If anyone asks, he’s totally going to deny it, though.)

  


* * *

  


With the door finally closed between him and the disaster of this day, Koushi lets himself collapse. He sinks to the ground gracelessly, and buries his face in his hands.

_I am so completely screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Yachi dances in the _corps de ballet_ of NBJ. Her mother is the company's ballet mistress. On meet-cute day, she’d overslept and was late for morning class and frantically thinking about how she was going to get murdered in front of everybody when she bumped into Kiyoko. She didn't even look before she started apologizing to the floor because oh no, what if she broke this lady's legs and the lady thought she did it on _purpose?_ She'd get booted out of the company, never be able to step foot in a ballet anything again in her entire life and bring shame into her family name and possibly also be tried in court and sent to prison where other prisoners would grill her flesh and feast on her _bones_ \- 
> 
> Kiyoko had to spend ten minutes trying to calm her down. It was love at first sight.
> 
> \- In that Halloween, Suga was ~~Jar Jar Binks~~ ~~Princess Leia~~ -insert your fave Star Wars character here-
> 
> \- I know Superman and Supergirl are also aliens, okay, but the Martian Manhunter can _shapeshift,_ come on.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define comfort


	6. define comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> comfort - the easing or alleviation of a person's feelings of grief or distress; solace; serenity
> 
> In other words: He can break all he wants because he knows there’s someone who will catch all the pieces and put him back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry!!! I know I said I'm aiming for weekly updates but real life didn't really take all that long to catch up to me, I'm sorry (シ_ _)シ I might start switching to every other week so I don't constantly feel like I'm drowning with all my stuff, if that's okay? Basically, I'm a complete failure at Life and I apologize OTL

Tooru regrets nothing, but perhaps going directly to bed and daydreaming about his date after running around in the rain did not rate very high on his roster of good ideas.

Because it wasn’t a good idea.

Not that he has time to think about it now, because he has training.

Whatever the matter is with his personal life, Tooru leaves it for outside the doors of the gym. Success only comes with hard work, after all. Who cares about geniuses or prodigies or up-and-coming volleyball superstars, who only have to work half as hard to be just as good? If that’s the case, Tooru will work twice as hard. Three times as hard. Ten times. Until he becomes better than all of them, because no one can outwork Oikawa Tooru.

Easy? No. But there’s a reason why not everyone can become champions.

They’ve developed a system where morning trainings are for techniques, and afternoons for tactics. That means individual drills and then a six on six to work as a team in actual game situations.

Irihata-san likes to put his setters through pressure isolated drills, as if Tooru is not used to making tough, split second decisions in high pressure situations. (But actually, it does wonders for Tooru’s mental conditioning so he’s not complaining.)

The pacing is fast and the success standard is high but Tooru thrives.

Irihata-san tosses another ball, and calls out a set. The pass is off. Tetsu-chan, Boku-chan and Ushiwaka-chan all approach, but it’s the fourth hit. The ball must go to Boku-chan.

Playing with Boku-chan is tricky, because sometimes he easily gets fixated with one thing - a failed kill, a bad pass, the all-important toss going to Ushiwaka instead of him. And when he gets into a mood, he gets into a Mood. But he’s smart beneath all that bluster and has good ball sense with straights to die for.

Aka-chan told him once that one of Boku-chan’s weaknesses is that he likes to show off. Tooru can tell. And it might be a weakness, that’s true, but as long as he lets Tooru utilize him to his fullest, then Tooru will show Boku-chan off like he’s Tooru’s best show pony and he’ll do it without so much as a fucking blink.

He sets.

The ball finds Boku-chan’s palm flawlessly.

“Nice kill!” come calls from outside the court.

Boku-chan lands neatly back into the court, throws his head back and spreads his arms wide, fists clenched. “Hey, hey, hey!” It was his first hit of the day.

Tooru stifles a smile as Irihata-san starts yelling, because that exclamation right there just lost them the entire point of the drill. But as Boku-chan shuffles dejectedly back, thoroughly scolded, Tooru catches his eye and winks. Throws a thumbs-up for good measure. “Omega good job!” he praises furtively while Irihata-san has his back turned. It does its job and cheers Boku-chan back up, so Tooru can lose himself to practice once again.

Except he doesn’t.

Instead of getting sharper the deeper into training he gets, his mind becomes cloudier. He feels heavy. Exhausted already, even though they’ve barely just begun. At one point in another drill, he almost runs into the net. His reaction time slows. He sets to Ushiwaka but it’s off. Ushiwaka corrects for him, which _pisses_ Tooru off that he has to do that, but it’s not a clean hit and it gets received. It shouldn’t have been, if Tooru had tossed it properly.

Ushiwaka looks at him with that face he uses when he’s trying to puzzle things out. It makes him look constipated, Tooru thinks snidely. And now, he’s walking towards Tooru. Great. Another _conversation._ Good times.

“Oikawa. I would prefer it if the toss was higher and further away from the net,” he states, bluntly. Loudly. Nevermind, of course, that Tooru _knows_ that and constantly churns out perfect sets in the games they’ve played together in the past, nope, speak a little bit louder, Ushiwaka-chan, he’s sure there are still some members of the team on the other side of the court who haven’t heard. Let’s just announce to everybody that Tooru is a big pile of suck today, thanks but actually _no thanks._

Tooru resists the urge to stick out his tongue. “Nice cover,” he sniffs, as haughtily as he can, before turning on his heel.

And then he runs into the net _again._

_I have had it to_ up here _with you, universe!_

He stalks off the court with as much dignity as he can muster, glaring down anybody who even dared to look at him sideways.

It doesn’t get better from there.

That feeling of bone-numbing exhaustion just gets progressively worse. It’s like he’s trying to drag his feet through mud when he runs and his hands feel like they weigh ten times as much when he lifts them to set.

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong, until he lands from a botched jump serve and his legs give out from under him.

In a moment of pure, unadultered panic, Tooru’s muddled mind transports him back to first year in Seijoh, when he hadn’t known anybody all that well just yet, when Koushi was away to another school, when his mother believed him when he’d told her that it’s normal for practice to run later in high schools. When the sting from never being able to defeat Ushiwaka in junior high was still fresh, even with the soothing balm of the Best Setter award.

When Tooru had shown himself and everyone else exactly _why_ he cannot be outworked, because he pushed and pushed and never stopped pushing.

When Tooru had reaped the consequences of his actions.

They hadn’t been the consequences that he wanted.

Tooru’s doctor had told him then, that he’s taught himself the hard way what it’s like when willfulness makes you feel like a god, while you’re stuck inside a human body that isn’t unbreakable like one.

Tooru falls, feeling hot and cold all at once, and still the first thing that comes out of his mouth, terror singing in his blood, is: “My _knee._ ”

  


* * *

  


“Here’s the deal, Koushi.”

It’s Yui’s voice.

“If you’d care to explain to me, from the word go, precisely why you’re hiding behind this door instead of facing your friends like a man, especially after said friends suffered through the black cloud you brought with you to rehearsal, then maybe I wouldn’t break it down and blame it on you. How about that, huh? Sounds like a good deal, right? Right! Okay! _Go._ ” She growls the last word out menacingly.

The toilet to Koushi’s left flushes. There’s the sound of a stall opening and then a shout of surprise.

“Michimiya! This is the _men’s_ bathroom!”

“Gee, thanks for pointing that out, Nagano-kun. I would never have known.”

Nagano sputters. “But- You- This... this is our _sacred space!_ ” 

“Is it?” Yui asks airily. “Then you guys should have kept it in better condition, don’t you think? Because, can I just say, that piece of mold right over there is starting to look like it’s going to turn sentient if you left it alone for a couple more hours-“

“That’s the _tiles!_ ”

“Huh. Such a pity.”

“What’s wrong with the tiles?!”

“Aside from the fact that they look like a big bunch of mold that’s going to turn sentient if you left them alone for a couple more hours?”

Nagano sputters indignantly again. But before he could say anything else, the door to the outside bangs open. “Hasn’t he come out yet?” Now, it’s Kiyoko’s voice.

“G-guys,” Asahi’s voice. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Then Daichi: “Just one time where you sound more reliable than you actually are, Asahi. That’s all we ask.”

“I... I _am_ reliable!”

“Do you need me to break that glass you’re only supposed to break in case of fire?” Kiyoko asks. “The box inside has an ax.”

“There’s one over there,” Daichi points out. “But it’s near the rehearsal hall and it’s too obvious so we probably shouldn’t do that one.”

Asahi squeaks. “Ah! But maybe we shouldn’t do it at all?”

“Don’t worry, Asahi,” Kiyoko replies coolly. “I have axed doors down before.”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you guys?” Nagano cries out, sounding completely out of his depth.

There’s a pause. And then: “Nagano-san, please let us handle our situation and get out.” Kiyoko, again.

He goes without a fight.

Of course he does.

Kiyoko has that kind of effect on men. Women, too. Kiyoko just has that kind of effect on everyone, in general.

“Okay you guys, thank you for getting rid of him, but I need my space,” Yui says, firmly. “You’re ruining my jam.” Which is obviously directed at Daichi. But they’re talking face to face now, and _that’s_ a new development. Koushi must have really looked bad when he came to rehearsal this morning, if they’re willing to even look at each other to be able to execute this intervention.

Just for the record, though, he’d tried his best to look as normal as possible. He was smiling and everything. Obviously, he hadn’t succeeded if they’re following him to bathrooms and threatening to ax doors down, but he’d tried his best.

There’s a lull in which Koushi can hear nothing but whispered conversation, and he pretends he’s not listening to them talking about him like he’s not there. Because he’d just get annoyed about it.

Eventually, Kiyoko says, “Fine. But next time, we’re bringing the ax.” Someone really has to talk to Kiyoko about her destructive tendencies. (Not that anyone would, for fear of the very same destructive tendencies they’re supposed to talk to her about.)

The door is closed very pointedly, before Yui announces, “So. I’ve gotten rid of them, too. Want to talk to me now?”

“You could have sent in Daichi or Asahi, you know. This _is_ the men’s bathroom,” Koushi reminds her dully.

Yui snorts. “As if you’d listen to those two goofballs. You would have sent them crying back to us before Asahi could even open his mouth to say _this is a bad idea._ ”

“That’s a really mean thing to say about Asahi,” Koushi tells her. “And you should probably apologize.”

“I will,” Yui promises. “But only after you come out of that stall and talk to me.”

“I have a better idea. What if you go to Asahi to apologize and then don’t come back?”

“Kou, you have to get out of there _some time._ You can’t stay in a bathroom stall forever.”

“Says you.”

Yui’s heels click closer. “I’m not above climbing this door to get inside, you know.”

“You’re wearing a _skirt,_ Yui,” Koushi says, eyeing the door, apprehensively trying to figure out whether or not her threat is actually doable.

“So either you get sued for destruction of property, or you get sued for harassment in the workplace,” Somehow, Yui manages to sound challenging and careless at the same time. “Your choice, Koushi.”

“But what if the complainant is also the offending party?”

_“Sugawara Koushi.”_

Koushi sighs. He looks to the ceiling for guidance it doesn’t offer, and wearily reaches over to unclick the lock. Yui doesn’t barrel inside like he expects her to. Instead, she calmly makes her way in and takes his hand. He lets her lead him out, down the hall with music in the air like it’s coming out of the walls, sending a wave of soothing calm right into Koushi’s heart, until she makes it to their not-so-secret staircase where she tugs him down with her onto the first step.

Staircases are their spill-the-deepest-mysteries-of-your-heart spots. It’s a founding tenet of their friendship.

Yui just raises an eyebrow, and then it all comes spilling out like usual. The date, splashing around in the rain, the disaster that was Koushi forgetting himself _again,_ dreaming of kisses in the doorstep after dates both maddening and magical, because of course he shouldn’t have expected anything less from Oikawa Tooru.

Tooru had been _so close._ Koushi had wanted _so much._

Despite his better judgement, at that moment, he’d been listening to the devil in his mind that said, _don’t you want know what it’s like?_ What it’s like to feel Tooru’s lips against his own, and Tooru’s skin beneath his touch, and the sound of his name when it’s coated in Tooru’s desire.

_Just this once._

Koushi had almost kissed him. Koushi had almost ruined their friendship. Koushi had never hated a word so much as _mosquito_ in that very moment.

Koushi had also never loved a word so much as mosquito in that very moment.

“I’m an idiot, Yui,” he says heavily. “Tell me I’m an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot, Koushi.”

“Wow, thanks so much for the moral support-“

“You’re an idiot,” Yui says, again. “You also like to worry a lot. Sometimes, you get anxious about the littlest things. Sometimes, you beat yourself up too much about things that aren’t even your fault. Other times, you’re seriously just a little shit.” She nudges his shoulder gently, smiling when he pouts at her entirely unfair - but unfortunately, not untrue - insults to his character. “And then occassionally, you make stupid decisions in the name of love. Because that’s what love _does,_ sometimes, it’s makes you wish for things that you know there’s no use wishing for. Happens to the best of us. That doesn’t make you less of a human being, Kou. Just... a _human being._ I mean, we’re all just doing our best, right? But we’re also still unbelievably hopeless.”

He sniffles. She turns to him at the sound of it, and wipes at the corners of his eyes, where his tears have gathered. “Besides. You’re an amazing guy, Koushi. If Oikawa doesn’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you. It’s his loss.”

“It’s mine, actually, because I’m the one who’s in love with him,” Koushi reasons weakly.

“Less of a loss for you,” Yui insists. “Since Oikawa is a troll and all.”

“He’s-” Koushi swallows the surprised giggle, and presses his lips together in an attempt to keep himself from dissolving into laughter. “He’s not a _troll._ ”

“That’s true,” Yui agrees easily, poking at his cheeks now. “But it feels good to insult stupid boys, doesn’t it?”

This time, Koushi can’t help his grin, and he nudges her shoulder back amicably. “You seriously have to rethink your coping mechanisms.”

“If they work, they work, Koushi.”

Koushi laughs. He feels a little better, surprisingly. Lighter, at least, the pressure on his chest less heavy. It’s like he’s slowly gaining back the mindset that he’s always adopted whenever he thinks of the long, lonely future of never being _the one_ for the person he loves the most.

_I’m okay._

_I can do this._

“And if they didn’t work enough, Kiyoko has this thing she’s working on with your name on it-“

“Thanks, Yui,” he says, smiling at her sincerely, because he really is lucky to have such a good friend. She doesn’t approve and yet, here she is, still offering the safety net of her support and encouragement and comfort. He doesn’t deserve it. He has it anyway, and it makes his silly predicament just a little less difficult.

When Yui smiles back at him, it’s almost motherly. “What’s a bosom friend for, hm?”

Koushi opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by the sound of his phone ringing.

The screen announces it to be an unknown number. Koushi frowns. Yui, understandably misunderstanding the look on his face, offers, “I can tell him to get lost and I won’t even feel bad about it.”

He shakes his head and shows her the phone, before he raises it to his ear to answer it. “Hello?”

“Sugawara-san.” It’s-

Koushi starts. It’s _Ushijima Wakatoshi._

“There’s been a problem with Oikawa.”

  


* * *

  


It had started with an ache, a dull kind of twinge at the base of his right knee. 

No big deal, fifteen-year-old Tooru had thought. He trained until everything ached. That was normal. It wasn’t even all that painful and anyway, it went away after a short while. It was nothing to worry about. He could take it. He’d take everything if it meant finally proving himself.

It had been tender then, too. Tooru had to put ice on it, after. But he’d decided, just this once. He couldn’t baby himself. He wasn’t going to get anywhere if he stopped every single time he got uncomfortable. Other players weren’t going to wait. Volleyball wasn’t going to wait. No pain, no gain, wasn’t that the saying?

If he wasn’t suffering, then he wasn’t working hard enough.

So, at least, this meant that he _was_ working hard.

_It’s going to pay off,_ he’d told himself. _Think about Ushiwaka-chan’s face when he finally loses to you._ Tooru had never been short of motivational ideas - Ushiwaka shocked. Ushiwaka despairing. Ushiwaka helpless under the power of Tooru’s serves and Tooru’s team, crushed beneath his heel like he rightfully should have been.

So he trained some more.

And then the pain came back. When Tooru jumped to serve, when Tooru landed after. Even when Tooru stopped jumping. It hadn’t been _too_ painful, but it lingered. It stayed with him through the night and only went away when he woke up the next day.

And it kept on coming back. It ached every time he played. It didn’t go away until a long time after. He’d trained in near-constant pain, and still he’d thought, _don’t stop, it’s going to pay off._

And then it hurt all day long. Going up stairs hurt. Standing up hurt. _Sitting down_ hurt.

And just when Tooru had finally been ready to admit to himself that something was wrong, he’d ended his turn during a serving drill by collapsing in the middle of practice. The pain had been _excruciating._ Iwa-chan - who was still in a hate-hate relationship with Tooru back then - had been there, although for the life of him, Tooru couldn’t have said what he’d been yelling or doing.

All he’d thought, at that time, was _no._

It can’t be.

But it is.

_It’s over._

When everything was said and done, he’d been lucky. He could have ruptured his patellar tendon. It was a miracle that he didn’t, considering all the symptoms he’d ‘willfully’ ignored. That was his doctor’s favorite word. _Willful._

Tooru had to stop playing volleyball for the rest of the year.

Tooru also had his mother switch to a _new_ doctor, for whom he became a model patient.

He knows he’s petty, he doesn’t have to be told.

Now, Tooru’s sitting in the infirmary, getting interviewed about his physical activity (which, _duh,_ he doesn’t have to be asked about _that_ ) and the symptoms he’d been feeling (nothing). It’s only when his knee is being examined that it dawns on Tooru that he might actually have collapsed in practice this time for completely unrelated reasons. 

“Your knee is fine, Oikawa-san,” the doctor pronounces, finally, which should have made Tooru feel relieved, but honestly, only made him feel super dumb.

Because, apparently, all he has is a fever.

Tooru had known bad decisions come back to haunt him eventually, but wow. He’d been nearly out of his mind. He thought he would have to stop playing again and have _surgery._

It’s the cruelest of all cruel false alarms, it’s not even funny.

Tooru stomps on the urge to throw a tantrum but it takes more effort than usual because the gods know he deserves one right now. He’s left to rest, with strict instructions to ‘let his body recover,’ and Tooru actually takes a pillow, buries his face in it and _screams._ And then throws it all the way across the room because he doesn’t want to be around negative energy. He does it again because it feels good.

The door opens during the third time but it’s too late to do anything about the pillow that smacks right into Koushi’s face.

He looks harried. Pink-cheeked and panting like he ran all the way here even though he’s not even supposed to be here at all. He has a concert in a few days. He should be up to his neck in rehearsals. He doesn’t even have his _violin._ “Where’s your violin?”

Koushi just stares at him blankly. Then, slowly, he glances over his shoulder where his case should have been, like he’s only now noticing its absence. “I left it.” The tone is wondering. But he shakes his disbelief off so he can look at Tooru again with his wide, stricken eyes. “That’s not... It’s _you_... Is your knee-?” He stops himself, unable to finish.

He doesn’t have to. Tooru can finish it all in his head. That’s not _important._ It’s you _I’m worried about._ Is your knee _okay? Worse? Hurting?_

That’s not important, he says.

Tooru’s not-even-banged-up knee is more important, he says.

Koushi’s violin is practically a piece of his soul. It had belonged to his mother. Only Tooru and his father are allowed to touch it, and even then, it has to be a really special occasion. He’d maybe laid a finger on it two times and he’s been best friends with Koushi his whole life. Koushi even hums to it and cares after it like he would care after his own child.

And he dismisses it just like that because he’s more worried about Tooru’s _false alarm._

Somehow, more than anything else, this is what completely sends Tooru over the edge. The sound that comes out of his mouth is strangled, like something had to pull it out, kicking and screaming from his throat. It’s enough to rush Koushi across the room and he doesn’t even think before burying his face in Koushi’s chest.

“It’s fine,” he manages pitifully through his sobs. “It’s fine, I thought- But it’s fine.” He tightens his hold because he might shatter apart if he let go. “But I was so _scared,_ Koushi. I thought... I thought this time for _sure,_ I thought I ruined, that I ruined, that it’s _ruined_ -“

“Oh, Tooru,” Koushi says, gently.

Which only makes Tooru cry harder. He’s not even sure exactly why. Maybe because he’d been so afraid. Those months Tooru hadn’t been able to play had been the worst months of his life. Going to physical therapy at fifteen. Not even a pro yet, and already injured, almost ruined and he _did it all to himself._ He didn’t even have anyone else to blame. If he never played again, it would be all his fault.

Or maybe it’s not the fear.

Maybe it’s relief. Because he’d learned, didn’t he? And he’d taken it all - the shame of it, the pain, the fucking _knee support_ he got for his sweet sixteenth when other kids who weren’t stupid about their health got... something else. _Anything_ else. And he’d sworn to himself then that he’d do everything in his power to stand on that court again, and _stay there._ That he’d learn to push himself far but never over the edge. Because he can’t be the best if he couldn’t even _play._ He’d _learned._

But maybe it’s not that, either.

Whatever the reason, though, Koushi is here. And he’s warm and he’s close and he’s _safe._

Tooru is safe, and the feeling settles over him like a blanket, coccooning him away from the pains of the world. He can break all he wants because he knows there’s someone who will catch all the pieces and put him back together.

Because _Koushi_ will catch all the pieces and put him back together. Like he always has: with a smile on his face, warmth and home, telling him that it’s okay if he doesn’t feel like being strong right now.

He can be strong by himself, but if he doesn’t feel like it for now, then he doesn’t have to be.

And that’s okay.

“You’re okay, Tooru,” Koushi is murmuring, over and over. “You’re okay.”

_Yes,_ Tooru thinks. _I am._

  


* * *

  


Cathartic emotional breakdowns notwithstanding, Tooru still has a fever.

It’s kind of amusing, really, watching Koushi practically bully the men of the national volleyball team, who all tower over him like giants, into helping with Tooru and Tooru’s things and Tooru’s transportation.

“Suga-chan is _scary,_ ” Tetsu-chan says, at least a half dozen times. (The other times he insists that he’s helping because he’s genuinely just that nice. As if anybody believed _that._ ) Which only makes Koushi look smug whenever he hears, before he puts on his disapproving face and, “If you can talk, you can work harder.”

Koushi is a slavedriver.

Not that Tooru’s complaining. He’s happily letting himself get pampered, while also very oppportunely, showing off his relationship in front of the rest of the team. And by ‘the rest of the team,’ he means, of course, Mizoguchi-san.

All in all, it’s one very productive sick day for Oikawa Tooru.

He naps contentedly with his head on Koushi’s shoulder on the cab ride to their apartment, and just soaks in all the care and love that he wants. It’s only when he wakes up to Koushi trying to position him for a piggyback ride that Tooru’s thoughts of rest and relaxation come to an abrupt halt. He flies out of the cab, becomes dizzy from the sudden movement, and has to find a nice bit of wall to lean against in a ‘I choose to stand by this wall because that’s what the cool kids do and totally not because the world is spinning around me because I’m sick’ kind of way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Koushi just gives him a deadpan sort of look. “I was just going to bring you to your apartment, what do _you_ think you’re doing?”

Tooru looks Koushi over. Sugawara Koushi - who is several inches shorter and almost twenty pounds lighter than him, whose PhysEd classes went by in a blur of bad grades, who now barely even works out as a ‘lifestyle choice’ - carrying national athlete Oikawa Tooru up stairs with his skinny arms and skinny legs and _jogging is so exhausting, Tooru, I don’t wanna?_

Tooru snorts. And then immediately regrets it when it only makes the dizzy feeling worsen. “Kou-chan, I don’t know how to break this to you gently, but you can’t carry me up the stairs without killing anybody.”

The heat of a challenge flashes in Koushi’s eyes. “You wanna bet?”

“No bet! It’s just facts, Kou-chan.”

“Tooru,” Koushi drawls. “I have a black-“

“I know!” Tooru says, breaking off the lecture before it can begin. “But there’s a difference between throwing people around and carrying people for long periods of time, you know.”

“Well, I’m getting you up to your room, even if I have to _throw_ you over my shoulder, kicking and screaming,” Koushi sets his chin, because he’s stubborn as a mule. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Tooru, it all depends on you.”

“Oh, Sugawara-sama!” Tooru sarcastically brings a hand to his forehead and pretends to swoon. “I’m so overcome by your sophisticated courtship techniques! Take me!”

Which is about the exact same time a group of girls round the corner. They were giggling over someone’s phone, but at Tooru’s exclamation, they stop in their tracks to stare at them and then turn beet red. Simultaneously. All of them. It’s like they rehearsed it, they were so in sync.

“Isn’t that Oikawa-san?” one of them whispers.

The easy recognition makes Tooru freeze, where he’s leaning provocatively against a wall, hand on his forehead, pretending to fucking _swoon._

A camera flashes.

“Well, ladies!” Koushi bursts out, lightly ‘encouraging’ the girls back the way they came. “It’s been nice, but as you can see, Oikawa-san is rather busy-“

“Oh, we _saw._ ”

“Practicing!” Koushi adds hurriedly. “For... the championship.”

It only makes them titter even more. Tooru wants to facepalm. However good his intentions were, Koushi just made it a hundred times worse. As if he needs to go through any more shit today. Thanks a lot, universe. Now, by some sort of unholy power that can only be possessed by fangirls and devils, the next tabloid Mizoguchi-san’s going to throw in Tooru’s face will probably contain all the bullshit of _Oikawa-san puts a whole new meaning to ‘public display of affection!’_

Plus a blown-up picture of Tooru’s sexy pose.

...At least, he’ll look good in the front page.

He knows it’s not that much of a consolation, but give him a break. It’s very hard to interpret this positively.

Koushi returns, looking very carefully straightfaced. “I, um. They promised to...” He clears his throat. “L-let us keep our privacy.”

Tooru narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. Koushi returns his gaze seriously, his lips a thin straight line. Tooru narrows his gaze some more. “You’re laughing yourself sick on the inside, aren’t you?”

Koushi flicks his eyes to the side. “No.”

And then the corner of his mouth twitches.

“ _You are!_ ” Tooru accuses, and Koushi apparently takes this as _permission,_ because he starts laughing uproariously, clutching his stomach, and crying actual happy tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Koushi says in between giggles. “ _So_ sorry. It’s just... I keep on thinking that it’s only a matter of time now before Japan finds out who the bottom is in this relationship-“

“I’m a _top!_ ”

Which sets Koushi off again.

Tooru stomps his foot petulantly. “Kou-chan, stop laughing!” he demands angrily. “It’s not like people believe tabloids anyway! All they print is a bunch of lies!”

“And how they’ll be speculating about how much the discomfort will affect your _play_ -”

_“Kou-chan!”_

“Ohmygod, I can’t _breathe._ ”

“See if I care, traitor!”

Koushi grins up at him, eyes sparkling. “Please Tooru, what do you think you’re gonna do without me?”

_Live in despair. Die eventually._ “Have a fluorishing reputation as a top,” Tooru replies evenly. His head is pounding. “And also father lots of fake tabloid babies.”

“Without an uncle?”

“They’ll survive.”

Koushi smiles. Tooru can’t get a read on it. It’s almost... wistful. And sad. “Koushi?”

“If you don’t want me to carry you because of your _pride_ or whatever,” Koushi says, brusquely turning away, looking back to their building like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Then at least lean against me, okay? I don’t want you to fall.”

And just like that, Tooru is fifteen again, waking up to Koushi crying at the foot of his hospital bed. Sugawara Koushi - with his iron will and balls of steel, who had regularly faced down behemoths laughing at his size across the mat with a smile on his face and fire in his eyes - _crying_ for stupid, willful Oikawa Tooru who deserved what he got because he’d brought it on himself.

Tooru is sixteen and walking to the front gates of his school to find Koushi waiting for him there. Sugawara Koushi - with notes in his head and concertos in his hands, who’d faced down his own _father_ so he’d be allowed to go to his fancy music school - going to Seijoh every evening, without fail, to make sure Tooru went home after practice and didn’t stay for longer than he was supposed to.

Tooru had gotten good at learning his body’s limits and knowing when to stop by himself. Iwa-chan and Makki and Mattsun helped, too. But whenever he forgot-

_No more, Tooru. Please. I don’t ever want to see you fall._

-Koushi was there.

When Tooru really thought about it, those were probably the moments when he started to realize what he’d already known on the inside. When he looked at Koushi and thought, _oh._

_I’m in love with you._

It’s on the tip of his tongue.

Again.

Like always.

But he swallows it back, and wraps an arm around Koushi’s shoulders, squeezing it acquiescingly. “I won’t,” he says softly.

_Because you’re here._

He keeps that thought to himself.

Koushi reaches up a hand and squeezes back, and it’s all the reassurance Tooru needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- From what I understand, in a setter pressure isolated drill, there’s a certain order to the hitters. When the coach passes a ball and calls a set, three hitters must approach every time but the setter should only set the ball to the hitter who’s supposed to spike next. But I just read this in a book, okay, so don’t quote me on this.
> 
> \- Omega good job is from an anime called No Game, No Life. Not that I’m reccing it bc it’s really fanservice-y. My brother only convinced me to watch it after he showed me the chess game, which was super good? So the games are awesome. But Fanservice. Beware. 
> 
> \- Ushijima and Oikawa actually have a very good volleyball partnership. Oikawa’s just a brat.
> 
> \- Kiyoko is a badass and I love her, pass it on.
> 
> \- So um. I gave Oikawa patellar tendonitis (jumper's knee). Assuming late middle school to early high school was when Oikawa would have been persistently perfecting his jump serves, I thought it made sense? Also, because one way to alleviate the stress to the tendon is to use patellar tendon straps which would explain his knee support? Worst case scenario of jumper's knee, however, is complete rupture of the patellar tendon and I guess we can understand why Oikawa would be afraid of that.
> 
> Thank so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define irrational (Advanced heads up for not really graphic... um... violence.)


	7. define irrational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> irrational – not reasonable; absurd; foolish
> 
> In other words: Just because you can fight doesn’t mean you _should._ Restraint. _But it’s Tooru._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! Not graphic violence up ahead. As in: there's a fight somewhere after the third scene cut (but a very short, not very descriptive fight, so don't get your hopes up because I'm a wimp OTL)

For the next few days, Koushi’s life is a cycle of rehearsals, performance, and a sick Tooru. 

Here’s the thing about a sick Tooru. 

A sick Tooru is a whiny Tooru. A whiny Tooru is annoying. And an annoyed Koushi is a Koushi who takes up his violin and plays all around the apartment to work through his frustrations. So at least his practice time doesn’t suffer one bit, even though Koushi has to spend a good hour every night explaining to Tooru exactly why Koushi thinks he’s far too old for a bedtime story.

Tooru whines, “But you’re never too old!”

“Tooru,” Koushi sends him a withering glance. “You have _sex_ on this bed.”

“So tell me a bedtime story with sex!” is Tooru’s matter-of-fact reply, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“ _That_ is called _porn._ ”

Finally, they settle on having Tooru be lulled to sleep by Koushi’s symphonies. But because he’s a sucker, Koushi gives in halfway through and starts playing actual lullabies for him. It’s a secret, though. It’s not like Tooru can tell, anyway, so he’s safe.

There’s a lot of things he’s safe about because Tooru can’t tell. 

Like how he got in so much trouble for running out on rehearsal. And the near heart attack he suffered when he realized he’d left his violin in a public place. His mind likes to skip right through to the absolute worst case scenario and for a few hours after, while Koushi had settled Tooru to bed, he’d convinced himself that all that would be left of his violin the next time he sees it are scraps of wood and string. His mother’s ashes will be churning in her grave.

Or like how he’d spent the first night curled up in Tooru’s couch trying to muffle his sobs because was it his fault? He was the one who’d wanted to run around in the rain, after all. Toou had wanted to take a taxi. If Koushi had only listened to Tooru, then he wouldn’t have gotten sick. He wouldn’t have collapsed in practice, and he wouldn’t have made the wrong conclusions. 

Koushi knows how afraid Tooru is of his knee getting injured again. He hadn’t been there, when it happened. ( _And whose fault was that, Koushi? Who wanted to selfishly cast aside their shared high school plans to chase after_ ambition?) But he’d been there, after. When Tooru had learned to make up for the hours he didn’t spend practicing by studying recordings of opponent teams. When the difference between the knee pad on his left knee and the support on his right bothered and assured him in equal amounts. When the mere mention of hospitals made Tooru scowl.

It had become Tooru’s biggest fear. Not losing to other players who have won the genetic lottery and were _born_ better, but losing the ability to play at all. 

Tooru’s breakdown, was it his fault? 

He’d cried himself to sleep on that thought, and furiously washed his face the next morning. And then he smiled, gave Tooru an extensive list of reminders and medicines, made him food, and teased him the entire time. Tooru couldn’t tell the difference. 

(Yui could, and she spent the rest of the day pursing her lips judgementally but it’s not like he made that much effort to hide it from _her._ )

Or like how, for a handful of moments after Tooru’s asleep, Koushi lowers his violin and looks at him. 

Not in a creepy way, just in a Tooru-is-different-when-he’s-asleep kind of way.

When he’s asleep, that armor of spite he wears like a shield from all the unfairness of the world melts away. It makes his face look sweeter. Less hard angles; more soft, muted lines. His hair falls in boyish curls over his forehead, a cascade of warm chocolate, echoed by lashes sprayed like fine powder beneath his eyes. Tooru has his mother’s lashes - long, lush, thick. It’s been a constant point of contention between him and his sister, and a constant point of desire among all his fangirls. The rest of his face is all his father’s - a strong jaw, thin lips, the curve of his nose. 

He’s beautiful like this, completely unlike the way he’s beautiful when he’s awake, but beautiful all the same. 

In those moments, Koushi wonders what it would be like to wake up to this face everyday. To know what Tooru looks like when he smiles while he’s drowsy. To run his fingers through Tooru’s fluffy bedhead. To hear Tooru whisper good morning to his ear. To kiss Tooru in bed, lazy and peaceful and content. To know he is loved, from the very moment he opens his eyes. 

_Must be nice._

Tonight, Koushi settles his violin in its case gently and thinks it’s as good a daydream as any. He touches Tooru’s hand lightly, the only contact he could allow himself for a friendly goodbye. “Sleep well, Tooru.”

Tonight, Tooru’s hand turns over and grips his own. “Stay.” His voice is sleep-heavy and tired. He shifts in bed, burrows deeper into his pillows and falls right back to slumber, grip loosening just like that.

Koushi could easily go. He can get away with it. Tooru probably won’t even remember this in the morning. He won’t be able to tell. Koushi is safe.

But-

_Stay._

He wants to. 

So he settles himself in his chair by Tooru’s bed, dropping his head into the cushion of his arms. It’s uncomfortable. It’s probably going to make him ache in the morning. It’s reminding him of his daydreams and he laughs at himself quietly, derisively. 

It’s not the same. 

It’s close enough.

Koushi has long ago learned to be grateful for close enough’s. 

After all, someday, Tooru is going to fall in love with someone who is not Koushi. He’s going to promise to be with that someone else for the rest of his life, without ever knowing just how big a space he occupied in Koushi’s heart. Without ever knowing that he changes Koushi’s life everyday, makes it better, brighter, fills it with a joy that can’t be quantified by words. 

And yes - pain, too.

But that’s Koushi’s own fault. 

At least like this, he can dream of happier things. At least, even if he’ll never experience waking up beside the person he loves the most, he can have what could pass for something like it. 

He closes his eyes. 

Smiles. 

Tells himself that it’s okay to want impossible things. Maybe they don’t make things any less impossible, but it’s okay. 

  


* * *

  
Tooru tries to focus on the match recording. It’s set point. That unbelievably tall middle blocker is on the vanguard. He’s scored nineteen points, total, in this game alone. Eight attacks, nine blocks and two service aces. That’s almost an entire set. He’s dangerous. Tooru should watch out for him and his habits in the next few videos. It’s not hard - he’s shockingly blond, a tiny pinprick of gold among a sea of black and brown.

Koushi’s hair is gold, too, in the weak light of early dawn. It easily takes on the color of the sun because it’s so pale. 

Tooru hadn’t noticed that before. 

It makes Koushi look ethereal, almost unearthly. Like an illusion, or a being conjured up from Tooru’s imagination. Like something unattainable, and completely out of reach and-

Loud cheers erupt in his ears. Tooru jolts back to the present, just in time to see the teams change court. He missed the point.

_Goddamnit._

Tooru rips his headphones off and tosses it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He’s due to return to training _tomorrow,_ and still he finds his mind wandering off to la la land every few seconds. He can’t afford to be like this right now. He’s already skipped nearly an entire week’s worth of work.

_Stop thinking about Koushi._

_But I can’t stop thinking about Koushi._

_You need to focus on these games._

_But I want to focus on Koushi._

_For god’s sake, this is your_ career.

 _And this is my_ heart.

_Oikawa Tooru is not going to get a world championship by being a hopeless romantic._

_Whoever said that I can’t win a world championship while also being a hopeless romantic can_ suck my dick. 

_Fine._

_Fine._

_Lose._

_Just you_ fucking _wait._

Someone knocks on his door. 

“Fucking _watch me!”_ Tooru screams at the sound, before realizing how stupid it is to already be talking to himself in the middle of the day while he’s not even drunk. He drags a hand through his hair and tries to release the negative energy. 

Someone knocks on his door more persistently. 

Tooru groans in annoyance, making his way to it as rebelliously as he can.

It’s Iwa-chan. 

He’s holding a pretty hefty bag in his hands, as well as a stack of BL magazines that Tooru recognizes as the title that had serialized Iwa-chan’s manga. “What took you so long?” he glares, rudely shoving past Tooru and setting himself up on the living room table. 

Tooru observes him warily, eye twitching. He whips his phone out and immediately begins shooting Koushi a very wide selection of wtf, betrayed, pouting emojis.

Koushi replies almost immediately. **You can’t even sleep without a bedtime story, Tooru.**

He’s overcome by the urge to throw his phone. He knew aggravating Koushi like that was going to result in payback but Iwa-chan? Seriously?

Everybody in his life is _mean._

Judging from the stuff Iwa-chan’s brought with him, though, it looks like he’s chasing a deadline. So he’s probably not going to pay attention to Tooru much, right? This might be okay. Tooru can possibly even get out of this with zero physical harm. He nods to himself and settles gingerly beside Iwa-chan, who is now seriously scrutinizing the naked blade of a box cutter. 

Tooru knows better than to ask for a job to assist in his manga-making process. The last time it happened, Iwa-chan had chucked an eraser to his head and told him that _I can’t trust you to color within the lines, Shittykawa, you’re_ five. Which, rude, the worst grade Tooru had ever gotten in art class was a sixty-one percent. And okay, it might have been barely passing, but a pass is a pass! So if Iwa-chan doesn’t want to make use of all the talent he would’ve had in his hands if he’d swallow his pride and ask Tooru for help, that’s his own fault. Tooru had _offered._

He just sneaks a magazine instead. Iwa-chan’s eyes track the movement, but otherwise lets him do what he wants. Tooru breathes a sigh of relief. _I win, Koushi,_ he thinks smugly, flipping it open to Iwa-chan’s manga.

They coexist peacefully for the next half-hour, with Tooru devouring magazine after magazine and Iwa-chan furiously applying screentones. At least, until the main characters start pissing Tooru off. 

“What the hell, Iwa-chan?” he demands, throwing the magazine down and pointing at the page. “This is stupid! Just let him confess already! _‘But what if he doesn’t feel the same way?’_ my ass! Your characters are too hopeless to _live._ ”

Iwa-chan looks up from his work with a face that says, _are you for real right now._ He sighs, “Sometimes, it still surprises me how clueless you can get, Idiotkawa.”

“What do you mean, clueless?” Tooru demands, gearing himself up for a self-righteous tirade. 

But then it dawns on him. 

Childhood best friends. Oblivious love interest. Pining main character, who won’t confess and refuses to face his feelings.

 _Ohmygod._ “Did you make a manga based on me?”

“That wasn’t the intention, no,” Iwa-chan answers shortly. “It’s not my fault you fell right into the trope.”

“Iwa-chan! Mean!” This time, Tooru does start tossing things. Iwa-chan calmly catches the magazine, actually having the gall to look _unconcerned._ “These are real life problems for me, you know! That you’re using for your own personal gain! I don’t even have words for this kind of betrayal, I can’t believe people actually think you’re _sensitive._ ”

Iwa-chan snorts. “And who the fuck said that?”

Tooru digs through the stack, until he finds the magazine he wants and shoves it to Iwa-chan’s face. It’s advertising an exclusive interview with him, and lots of cartoon hearts. “There, you see!”

“Ah, it’s that magazine interview,” Iwa-chan replies, displaying his complete inability to read a situation. Tooru’s eye twitches again in annoyance. “It was just over the phone, but they were all: wow sensei, we heard you were young but we didn’t expect you to be barely out of university, like what the hell-“

“Kyaa~” Tooru tonelessly reads aloud. “Sensei admits to always thinking about love, even in his spare time! Such passion from the ultimate love master!”

“As if my drawings are shitty just because I’m not twice as old as my intended demographic-“

“-enchanted us with the gentle and tender words that flowed from his heart!” Tooru continues pointedly.

“-can draw circles around anyone even if I waste my days babysitting a useless piece of shit crybaby-“

“-saying he’s inspired by and sees beauty in the ordinary surroundings of his daily life! Truly a rare and sensitive man!”

“I mean-“

“Wait a minute!” Tooru slams the magazine shut. “ _I’m_ the crybaby? I’m not a crybaby! And I don’t actually need a babysitter, Iwa-chan! I’m an adult!”

“Maybe we’d treat you like one if you stop doing things that make us fucking worry about you, Shittykawa! Be a little more thoughtful, at least! You’re not the only one who hurts when you get hurt, you know!” Iwa-chan barks fiercely, as if he’s been holding back the words all this time and has just been waiting for the first opportunity to let them all come crashing out. “Stop trying to push your body beyond what it can give! Slow down sometimes! Get some fresh air every once in a while! And don’t say ‘ _volleyball won’t wait_ ’ because gold medals aren’t worth you endangering yourself and your body! Do you hear me? It’s not worth it, you idiot!”

Tooru falls silent, anger abruptly doused. It’s replaced by a much more pleasant kind of warmth because he’s known Iwa-chan long enough to understand that when Iwa-chan scolds him, he does it with love. He’s a tsundere, see. That’s how you know he cares. 

He _cares._

“Aw, Iwa-chan,” he says tearfully, throwing his arms around him and snuggling against his chest. “You do care!”

“What the hell?” Iwa-chan starts pushing at him and trying to disengage his hold. “What the _hell?_ I wasn’t giving you compliments, dumbass!” 

“Iwa-chan!”

“Oi, get off!” Iwa-chan protests, looking more and more crabby by the minute. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re just wiping your face in my shirt, you asshole!”

Tooru beams, even when he’s deposited back into his seat none too gently. He’s still got it, he thinks, as Iwa-chan starts grumpily muttering under his breath. It’s good to know that he can be in the winning side of the argument in this friendship. Not that Tooru would ever admit to being on the losing side of anything, of course. It’s just, you know.

Hypotheticals. 

“I didn’t even know I was sick, okay?” Tooru informs him blithely. “I wouldn’t have gone if I knew. I know my body’s limits. Give me a little more credit and don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles and then you’ll _really_ look like the old meanie you are on the inside. See if Kyouken-chan likes you so much _then._ ”

Iwa-chan doesn’t even react to the insult. Or the mention of his hate-sex-buddy. Instead, he scrutinizes Tooru with his gaze, assessing, trying to see whether or not Tooru is actually telling the truth. But Tooru really has nothing to hide this time so finally, Iwa-chan backs down with a grunt. “Long as you know,” he concedes, straightening his papers and getting back to work. 

“I do,” Tooru says firmly, getting back to his own work, too. He turns to his laptop with renewed energy, first clicking to his social media feeds before he has to start watching videos again. At the top of the page are pictures of Koushi and his orchestra friends. 

They’re having a workshop today. 

It’s something they do, in addition to all their performances because they believe in spreading the power of music through ‘encounters with real things.’ It’s in their website. 

Koushi loves having them. There’s something about sharing his love for music with little kids that just makes him a thousand times livelier. The bright smile on his face in almost every picture makes it obvious enough. It also makes Tooru’s heart leap. 

He’s so cute.

There’s him making silly faces with the rest of the first violinists and their students in one. And him letting the kids give him bunny ears in another. _So cute._ Tooru goes through all the pictures in the album, feeling fond, a million butterfly wingbeats underneath his skin. It’s indescribable, the feeling you get when you see the person you love being so happy. 

The last picture is completely taken over by unruly orange hair. Tooru almost laughs. It’s amazing how much space in the frame Chibi-chan can take up when he’s so small. Koushi is in the corner of picture, caught in the middle of a laugh. And in the other corner, it’s another familiar face, only this one shoots Tooru’s recently-gained good mood straight back to hell. 

Black hair, blue eyes and that ever present I’m-better-than-you aura. Tooru can recognize that face anywhere. 

It’s _Tobio-chan._

Tooru suddenly decides, he should take a break like Iwa-chan said, after all. 

In Koushi’s workshop.

Right fucking now.

“I’m going out!” 

  


* * *

  
It’s easy to tell where Koushi is, because Tooru just has to listen for discordant noises screeching from an abused-sounding violin. 

That’s Chibi-chan. 

Tooru suspects that he’s just a little bit tone deaf. Somehow, some well-meaning adult figure who likely didn’t know what they were about to unleash upon the world had inspired him to play something like the violin in front of other people who are, as it often turns out, _not_ tone deaf. 

Tooru makes a beeline for it, and is immediately rewarded by the sight of Koushi kneeling down by Chibi-chan’s feet, smiling encouragingly. 

“-just a little harder, you can do it,” Koushi is saying. 

Chibi-chan nods enthusiastically, before trying to commit murder via violin all over again. 

Koushi doesn’t even blink. But that little monster Tobio-chan on Koushi’s other side looks up from where he’s scowling intensely at his sheet music to wave his bow reproachfully at the other child. “Boke! Hinata-boke!”

“Tobio, that’s not very nice,” Koushi scolds gently, while also simultaneously holding Chibi-chan back from a counterattack. 

Tobio-chan looks mutinous, but only for a moment. He adores Koushi too much to actually be immune to the disappointed look. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sincere at all. But Koushi smiles at him proudly at that, and it makes his chest puff up with satisfaction. 

Koushi is really good with children. 

“Let’s do that again, Shou-chan,” Koushi urges, tirelessly raising the practice violin in his own hands. “Watch my fingers, here.” 

He demonstrates, drawing his bow across the strings so Chibi-chan knows how it sounds when it’s done right. Then he patiently waits as Chibi-chan refers to his fingers and then compares it with his own, making supportive little noises, and nodding along. “Ready?” he asks, raising his bow. 

“Yeah!” 

“Remember to press down harder, okay? Let’s go!” 

But Koushi doesn’t bring his bow down.

He lets Chibi-chan get it right and fill the air with actual music all on his own. 

“I did it!” Chibi-chan cheers. “Did you see? It went all _fwooo!_ Did you see, Suga-san, I did it!!” Koushi - “You did! That was amazing!” - cheers right along with him. Tooru isn’t even sure which one of them is happier. They just both grin brightly at each other, two twin suns filling the universe with the light of their happiness. 

“Did _you_ see that? I’m coming for you, Kageyama!” Chibi-chan announces importantly. 

In response, Tobio-chan just looks away, haughty and not even seeming the least bit disturbed. “I’m still not playing with you.”

Imagine that kind of arrogance on an eight-year-old. But then again, he probably doesn’t have anything to worry about. He’s everything Tooru hates in this world, after all.

A violin prodigy. A musical genius. Even Tooru, whose only connection to the Japanese classical music world is Koushi, has heard whispers of him over the years. It’s amazing, they say, that he’s already so good while he’s still so young. 

Japan’s new musical golden child. 

And he’s just going to keep getting better from here.

Tooru doesn’t know why he’s even in these workshops, apart from the fact that he apparently idolizes Koushi. He has tutors at home. He has musician parents, who _understand._ He never has to pretend that music is ‘just a hobby.’ He never has to split his time between doing what he wants and doing what his father wants, because he’s afraid to be a disappointment. He never has to assert himself to his father so he can be allowed to go to the school that he needs. He never has to doubt himself every time he fails to learn a piece after practicing over and over, because he’ll probably never fail at much in his life. 

When he grows up, he’ll probably even easily surpass Koushi, both in skill and reputation, because that’s just what geniuses like him do. It’s only a matter of time. It’s not _if_ but _when._

And yet he’s here, asking Koushi to teach him things Koushi’s spent a lifetime learning only so he can throw back in Koushi’s face how he gets it easy on the first try. 

Koushi doesn’t mind. He’s good like that. He cheers Tobio-chan on with the same fervor that he did for Chibi-chan, Tobio-chan’s aspiring - and probably tone-deaf - rival-to-be. It’s all about sharing their passion, apparently. Koushi had told him it doesn’t really matter if it’s him playing, or Tobio-chan playing. Either of them playing keeps the music alive. Lets people feel things. Gives them a chance to see that there’s parts of this world that are still beautiful. 

It makes him feel confident, he said. Knowing that, all together, they’re both doing what they can for music. So what if the little upstart is going to be better than him before he’s even old enough to fucking drive? Koushi’s just going to have to work harder to prove himself. He doesn’t mind.

Well.

Tooru sure as fuck _does_ mind. 

Let him learn shit on his own, the way Koushi had to. He has no business leeching off of Koushi’s hard-earned skills.

And yeah, okay, maybe it’s immature to be hating on the ‘next generation’ or ‘the future’ or whatever. 

Tooru doesn’t give a shit. 

“Tooru!” Koushi’s tone is about as startled as he looks. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Tooru stalls, abruptly realizing that he might not have thought this thing through. He can’t exactly say _I was in the neighborhood,_ because that’s stupid, he obviously wasn’t, but he doesn’t have anything else at the ready. He flails mentally, watching Koushi’s brows furrow the longer he takes to come up with an excuse. “Iwa-chan, uh,” he clears his throat. “He suggested that I could... maybe use some fresh air?”

Which is technically true, he _did_ say that, so.

(Back in the apartment, Iwaizumi Hajime sneezes unexpectedly and asks himself for the millionth time why he ever thought paying a visit to actual failure at life Oikawa Tooru was a good idea.)

Koushi eyes him critically, and then huffs a laugh. “You guys remember Oikawa-san, right?” he asks, directing his question to the two kids now looking at Tooru with vastly differing expressions.

“It’s the Grand King,” Chibi-chan whispers, tugging at Koushi’s hand urgently. “Do you think he knows we were talking about him and that’s why he’s here?”

Tobio-chan just glares at him as if Tooru’s to blame for every bad thing that’s ever happened to him in his very young life. 

“ _Oho,_ what’s this?” Tooru crows delightedly. “Do you talk about me to the kids, Kou-chan?” He smiles eagerly, waiting for Koushi to look away to pat at Chibi-chan reassuringly so he could stick his tongue out at Tobio-chan without any consequences.

Koushi holds up a finger seriously. “Shou-chan, this is what it means when people say ‘speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear,’” he explains in his teaching voice.

“Kou-chan!” Tooru cries, pointing at him in outrage as the two kids dissolve into a pile of snickers. “Don’t teach them things like that! You’re being a bad influence!”

“So the Grand King is actually the Demon King?” Chibi-chan asks faux-innocently.

“Chibi-chan, no!”

“Oikawa-san’s hair is kinda spiky, like horns,” Tobio-chan volunteers, looking far too proud of himself for something that’s totally wrong.

“The Demon King has more than one horn?”

“It’s _artfully tousled!_ ”

This time, Koushi joins them both in their laughter. “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Oikawa-san would be bested by children.”

Tooru stomps his foot. “This is _your fault,_ Koushi!”

“Boys, what Oikawa-san is doing right now is called throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get his way,” Koushi quickly retaliates, all teacher-like again. “It’s not nice. Don’t follow him.”

They both nod fervently. Over their little nodding heads, Koushi shoots him a victorious grin. Tooru stops himself from stomping his foot again, just in case Koushi uses it to impart yet another insulting ‘life lesson.’ 

Maligned by _kids._ This is what his life has come to. 

“Hey, look, whaddya know,” a completely unwelcome voice cuts in. Tooru turns his head to see Michimiya Yui looking at him like he’s worse than the dirt beneath her feet. “The _Boyfriend_ finally shows his face. I was starting to think you were afraid of little old me, _Boyfriend._ ”

The thing about Michimiya Yui is that she thinks she’s all that because she’s been best friends with Koushi since high school. As _if._ High school is nothing. High school is the dirt beneath Tooru’s feet. Tooru has been best friends with Koushi since before Koushi even knew how write the fucking characters for the word _high school._

“Believe me, Micchan,” he returns, just as sickly-sweet. “I’ve faced down many people far more intimidating than you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, _Boyfriend,_ ” Micchan’s smile sharpens, flashing teeth like a shark. “I haven’t even gotten _started._ ”

“Yui, stop it,” Koushi snaps. Tooru shoots Micchan a triumphant look, but it slides off just as quickly as it came when Koushi continues, “You’re scaring the kids.”

Micchan’s mouth quirks as she deliberately turns her back on him to give Chibi-chan a victory sign. “Yo, Shou-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “That was some nice playing you’ve been doing over here! Good job!”

“My violin went all _fwooo!_ ”Chibi-chan responds exuberantly. 

“For five seconds, and then you sucked again.” Tobio-chan reminds him dryly, yet again proving how dark his soul is on the inside. “Sucky.”

“Tobio, what did we just talk about?”

“...Sorry.”

He still doesn’t sound sorry, just for the record.

“By the way, Kou,” Yui says, gaze trained on Tooru. “You need to be talking to CM, like, five minutes ago.”

“What? But the kids-“

“Don’t worry,” she says in a tone that Tooru is sure she purposefully designed to make him want to worry. “ _Boyfriend_ and I can handle it, right?” Then, she turns to Chibi-chan and Tobio-chan, flashing the victory sign again. “Don’t you guys want to hang out with Michi-nee and _Boyfriend_ over there?” 

“With the Demon King, too?”

“I don’t want to hang out with Oikawa-san.”

“See? It’ll be fun!”

Tooru’s eye twitches. It’s been doing that a lot today, for some reason, he wonders why.

“Fine,” Koushi sighs, albeit reluctantly, getting to his feet. “But let’s remember to all play _nice,_ okay? Be _nice._ Because treating other people _nice_ is fun!” He said it three times, wow. He’s usually much better at being subtle than this. “I’ll be back soon!”

Thus saying, he stalks off to find the concertmaster, walking backwards so he can return Chibi-chan’s zealous waving. It’s only when he’s finally gone that Tooru understands the situation Koushi left him in because immediately after he turns back to the rest of this charming little group, he’s met with three sharp sets of eyes, all of which belonging to people who don’t like him much, exactly. 

Nice kill, Koushi.

Chibi-chan steps forward hesitantly. “Demon King, are you... are you really Suga-san’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah, _Boyfriend,_ ” Micchan drawls. “Are you _really_ Koushi’s _Boyfriend?_ ”

“Why do you keep on saying it like that?” Tooru asks her, exasperated.

“So you’re constantly reminded that I know your secrets,” Micchan responds, biting off the words darkly, one by one, like she’s savoring each of them. “ _Boyfriend._ ”

“Does that mean you’re going to _marry_ Suga-san?” Chibi-chan bursts out, looking alarmed by his realizations. “And make _babies?_ If Suga-san has his own babies, does that mean he won’t play with us anymore?”

“Don’t be a dummy. Suga-san’s not going to leave us for Oikawa-san,” Tobio-chan spits balefully. Tooru has to admit, it’s kinda cute that he’d immediately come to Koushi’s defense like that. Tooru finds himself softening, at least until it gets less cute, when a literal second later, actual little hellion Tobio-chan follows it up with: “He likes us better.”

This fucking kid better be thankful he’s a kid because if it were anyone else belonging to _Tooru’s_ age group, he would be cutting off _heads._ “Excuse _you,_ Tobio-chan-“

“Suga-san says,” Tobio-chan interrupts, because he’s not only a brute, he’s also a brute who doesn’t have any manners. “It’s not nice to tell people you don’t like that you don’t like them because they’ll feel bad. But I really don’t like you, Oikawa-san.”

This _fucking_ kid. He’d better be fucking grateful for every day he’s fucking _alive._

“But if you’re Suga-san’s boyfriend, then that means you’ll be together forever, right? And- and Suga-san won’t ever be alone? So I guess that’s okay. If Suga-san won’t ever have to be alone, then I guess you’re okay.” 

He says it defiantly, glaring off to the side, making a point of being obvious that he didn’t actually relish saying those things to Tooru. But he _did_ say it, like it meant something to him for Koushi to never have to spend his life alone. Like it’s the most important thing for people to be is _not alone._ Like-

 _Oh._

In that moment, Tooru finally understands what Koushi means whenever he says that he worries about Tobio-chan. Because Tobio-chan is really good at what he does. But more than that, he’s passionate to the point of being intense. Tooru can see it, in the way he holds his violin, in the fire in his eyes when he looks at his sheet music, in his constant criticisms of Chibi-chan, because it’s an insult to him whenever people don’t play the way they’re supposed to. 

He’s not going to dumb his music down for other people.

And that will never go over well.

No kid likes being told they’re wrong, much less being told they’re wrong by _another kid._ More than that, no one likes to stand beside a person who is so obviously better, because that means they’ll always be found wanting. Less. Not good enough. Tooru knows, more than anyone, how awful that feels. And how no one would willingly seek that feeling out again.

So when Tobio-chan grows up to become concertmaster at a very young age because that’s what geniuses like him do, will his orchestra respect him? 

Or resent him?

...Genius, huh?

It’s a lofty title. Tooru hates it. But maybe... Maybe before, he’d been so blinded by his hatred that he didn’t really see how isolating it could be. 

Already, it’s apparent how separate he is, just from this workshop alone. Where everyone else is playing in groups, laughing to themselves and having fun, Tobio-chan is in his own space, in this little corner away from the rest, surrounded by no one else but Chibi-chan. 

_I guess it’s okay. If Suga-san won’t ever be alone, then I guess you’re okay._

Because to Tobio-chan, set apart from everyone else by the sheer brightness of his talent, that _is_ the most important thing.

Not being alone.

_Oh._

Tooru’s heart bleeds. 

Don’t get him wrong, okay. 

He still hates Tobio-chan, and everything he stands for. He still thinks he’s a little fiend who deserves to be put in his place, and that Koushi should stop coddling him too much. Every bad thing he’s ever thought about Tobio-chan still applies. 

But maybe he understands him, too.

Just a little bit.

Tooru also glares pointedly to the side. “I don’t like you too, you know! It’s not just you! This is mutual hatred,” he gestures between them both angrily. “But... if Koushi likes you, then I guess you’re okay, too. So I’m willing to call a truce.”

Tobio-chan hesitates. “...What’s a truce?”

“It means,” Tooru crosses his arms sulkily. “I won’t fight you anymore. For Koushi.”

Tobio-chan considers this. Nods seriously. “For Suga-san.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

“Well, aren’t we all just a big happy family?” Micchan comments, from where she had been coralling Chibi-chan so Tooru can have his little heart-to-heart. (And can Tooru just say, if he becomes sympathetic to another genius again in his lifetime, it will be _too soon._ ) She releases him so he can fly to Tobio-chan, exclaiming, “ _Whoa,_ Kageyama! Michi-nee says you just made a deal with the devil!”

Tooru’s eye twitches. Again. Thousandth time today, thanks a lot, world.

Micchan takes one look at him and ‘coughs,’ as if she’s doing a good job at hiding her laughter. “Sorry, Oikawa, it was the only way to get him to leave you two alone.”

Tooru blinks, smirking as he registers exactly what she just said. “You called me _Oikawa._ ”

“Hm, nope! Don’t think so!” she denies easily. But when she looks at him again, her eyes are no longer combative. Instead, they’re... thoughtful?

“After all, _Boyfriend,_ ” she winks, somehow managing to make it even that look sinister. “I still know all your secrets.” 

  


* * *

  
Koushi becomes in charge of the headcount.

Koushi has no idea how he became in charge of the headcount. Does he look like he’s ready to be responsible for the entirety of the violin workshop’s children? He doesn’t even think he’s mature enough to be responsible for _one_ child.

 _I mean,_ his brain whispers nastily. _Look how Tooru turned out._

Koushi also kinda wants to strangle his brain for its completely unnecessary, not to mention inappropriate, commentary. 

He decides to check for stragglers first, so he’d only have to suffer through the worry once. His mind is already jumping to increasingly horrifying possibilities that start at _lost child_ and end at _apocalypse._ He’s not even sure how the end of the world became his responsibility all of a sudden. That’s just seriously how his mind works. His eyes dart around the area anxiously, trying to locate places children might wander off to unsupervised and finally fixate on the one set of doors that open directly to a back alley. 

Back alley?

Wasn’t there a news report recently about some kid getting jumped by thugs in a back alley? 

No, calm down. This is a good area of town. There probably aren’t going to be thugs, right? It’s completely safe. No yakuza here.

Fuck, _yakuza._ Do they have headquarters nearby? But what would they even do to kids? Take them in? Bolster their ranks? Train them to become child assassins? 

_Ohmygod._

He makes for the doors, trying to look as purposeful as he can and not like he’s already panicked himself to next week and back. He flies outside, the doors slamming close behind him and-

 _Thugs._

Well, no kids. 

So. 

That’s good. 

But the alley’s occupied by two suspicious-looking people, lounging against the wall on the far side of it, dressed in leather and metal and every stereotypical piece of clothing imaginable. They don’t really pay him any attention, more engrossed in their magazine to care, so Koushi gives the alley one last check, before he turns back around to make his way inside.

This is a live and let live kind of situation.

And then he hears the disgusting things they’re saying.

About _Tooru._

A flurry of biting, icy wind slaps his body, at the exact same time it gets crashed through with a heatwave. He stands there shaking, anger zinging like lightning, coloring his vision red, fists clenching and unclenching as the conversation gets progressively more dirty and lewd and _disgusting._

And it’s about _Tooru._

If there’s one thing Koushi’s father has hammered into his mind over and over again, it’s restraint. He has to keep careful watch over his emotions, and never let it take over his more rational side. Never give in to wild urges. To the easy downward spiral of fury. He has to have discipline. That is the responsibility that’s carried by people with their kind of skill because the first thing you learn before you even deal a single blow is that just because you can fight doesn’t mean you _should._

Restraint. 

_But it’s Tooru._

His decision had already been made for him from the moment he heard the first ugly word.

He whips back around, marching towards the two thugs and their fucking magazine. When he’s close enough, he sees Tooru’s picture splayed on the front cover. 

_Oh, Sugawara-sama! Take me!_

From that day.

Koushi had laughed. He’d let the girls who took that picture go on just their word, but of course they would post it on the internet. Of course it would end up on the tabloids. He’d known that. He’d been so amused, even, thinking about actual grown journalists speculating over whether their supposed sex life was going to become detrimental to Tooru’s _form._ It had been funny. The most hilarious thing he’d thought about in days.

Koushi had _laughed._

His nails dig into his palm so hard, he feels the sting of many tiny cuts. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but overhear,” he starts lowly.

One looks up, and then elbows the other, who tears his dirty eyes from Tooru’s picture to give Koushi a once-over that makes Koushi want to crawl out of his own skin. He grins the self-sure grin of someone who thinks highly of himself and his abilities.

“But that’s my _boyfriend_ you’re talking about.” 

“Looks like it,” his voice is _slimy_ as he examines the magazine again. “You here to offer us the package deal, pretty? Seems you’re the type to go wild in bed. Why else would he keep you around otherwise, huh? A helpless little thing like you.”

Koushi takes the insult passively. That’s not why he’s here. They could insult him all they want but-

“When we both know what he needs is a real man who’d give it to him the way he’s clearly begging for-“

Koushi moves without even thinking about it. The man trails off, smile widening in anticipation as he sails forward, fists at the ready. He’s a thug, he thinks he’s got this in the bag. 

But that’s what they all think. 

And really, Koushi understands. He knows how he looks, with his silvery hair and his mother’s face and his slight build. He knows the words they whisper behind hands when they think he can’t hear. Delicate. Fragile. Easily breakable.

What people don’t see when they look - Koushi’s father, the judo master who trains law enforcement officers for a living and has been teaching Koushi how to fight since before he could walk.

Another thing they don’t see when they look - the reputation Koushi left behind when he quit judo for music and never looked back.

But he didn’t forget, either.

You score an _ippon_ in competition by throwing an opponent onto his back with force and control. The funny thing about judo is that it’s one of those sports where a skilled smaller fighter can trip up larger opponents, especially when they’re carelessly flying right at him like this. Do not resist. Evade, adjust, reduce his power. _Softness controls hardness,_ that’s how that principle of judo works.

Koushi is very good at scoring _ippons._

The man is on the ground before he even fully realizes what has happened. When Koushi turns to glare at his friend, the other one takes a quick look at the scene, and promptly runs away. Koushi resists the urge to grin vengefully, turning his attention back to the man on the ground.

Another way to score _ippon_ in competitions - by pinning the opponent on his back or forcing submission. Koushi is not as good at this, but he’s not in competition so he can improvise. He clutches at the man’s collar, draws his fist back and only stops short of breaking the thug’s nose. 

He’s lost his slimy grin. His eyes are wide. 

Koushi brings his face in as close as he could handle and growls, “Let me make myself clear. If you ever talk about my boyfriend that way again, I’ll personally hunt you down to make sure you end up with more than just a few days of back pain, _do we understand each other?_ ”

The man nods frantically. Koushi smiles widely at his assent and pats at his head, ignoring the spike of satisfied pleasure he gets when the man flinches away from the touch. “Nice talk!” he declares brightly, getting up and dusting himself off. “See you again never!”

Koushi waves, watching him hobble away, keeping his smile on his face, mind still sharpened to a point by the cold of battle instincts. 

Maybe Koushi’s accepted that someday, he’ll have to watch Tooru fall in love with _the one._ And maybe he’ll do it with a smile on his face, because he wants Tooru to be happy. 

But it’s one thing for Koushi to take Tooru finding someone else lying down. It’s completely another for him to give Tooru up without a fight to a partner who’s not even worthy of the nail on his pinky finger.

Koushi would sooner sell his _soul_ before he lets Tooru go just so he can end up with an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Iwa’s super famous BL manga isn’t based on Oikawa’s love life. No, really. It’s not. It’s Shittykawa’s own fault that he’s a cliche. Iwa is absolutely sure. (...Ninety percent sure.)
> 
> \- TPO believing in spreading the power of music through ‘encounters with real things’ really is true. It’s also really in their website.
> 
> \- Hinata isn’t actually tone-deaf, he just doesn’t have perfect pitch (like Suga or Kageyama). Give the kid a break, Oikawa, ffs.
> 
> \- Martial arts master!Suga who walks the streets without _fear_ because he’s stronger than y’all plebeians is my biggest Haikyuu headcanon EVER and I’m sorry if I shoved it in your faces. (But then again, I’ve been shoving headcanons in your faces since ch1 so. I’m sorry twice?  >.<)
> 
> \- What Suga just did is called kicking ass to defend his man. I know, it’s super cool and sexy, but he also has a black belt so maybe we can leave the ass-kicking to the professionals? It’s not nice. Don’t follow him. Violence is bad. Seriously, don’t do it. Just say no, guys.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define friendship


	8. define friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> friendship - the emotion or state of being friends; close relationship; mutual attachment
> 
> In other words: It’s not romantic love. But still, it’s a love he treasures with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -heavily eyes the minor DaiYui tag-

Of course, it only takes Koushi about five seconds before he starts regretting everything.

Oh god, oh god, what did he just _do?_ That was so far beyond stupid, he has no words. What the hell was he thinking? What the fuck did he think he was doing? Not only could someone from his _job_ have walked in on that scene, little _kids_ could have just as likely happened upon it, too. Eight to thirteen-year-old kids, who don’t need that kind of example set for them by a virtual _stranger_ who only comes around their lives every three months or so to teach them how to play _Brahms._

That’s not what judo is for. In fact, you bow to your opponent before you fight with great respect, as a way of saying you come with a clean mind, and bear no ill will. You don’t come to the mat with any intention to harm. This is something that could get him expelled from any dojo without question. 

This was not what his father intended when he taught Koushi how to fight.

Where was his _mind?_

_Stupid._

_Koushi, you’re so fucking stupid._

This is the absolute stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life, and he’s done _pretty stupid things_ in his life that include, but are not limited to: that time he’d been talked into becoming a friendly neighborhood vigilante for Halloween; that other time he and Yui dared Daichi to jump into the lake naked and then stole his clothes; and, you know, this time he’d agreed to fake date the actual love of his life.

_Without a doubt, the stupidest person in this entire godforsaken universe._

Koushi doesn’t know how long he basically just stands there calling himself every possible bad name he knows, willing the ground to maybe open up, swallow him whole and not spit him out for about a million years. 

Didn’t people mysteriously disappear from time to time? Tooru had shown him a website once, containing evidence proving that each and every one of said mysterious disappearances were actually covered-up alien abductions. Koushi looks up at the sky hopefully. Right now is a good time to be kidnapped by aliens. 

Seriously, _right now._

“Kou-chan?”

_Speak of the devil._

“What are you doing here? Did you leave me alone with _Tobio-chan_ just so you could hang around in-“ Tooru pauses. Not that Koushi can tell what he’s doing exactly, because he’s too busy examining his shoes. They’re looking very shiny in this particular light. 

Tooru’s feet move into his line of vision. He doesn’t say anything as he reaches out and gently takes Koushi’s fists into his hands, soothing them open gradually, patiently, running his thumbs across the lines of red crescents Koushi’s nails had dug into his palms. “Your _hands,_ ” Tooru breathes in obvious shock. “What’s happened?”

“I...” Koushi’s shoes offer him no right answers. “I got angry.”

Tooru makes some kind of disbelieving noise. “Kou-chan, you never get angry.”

“Yes, well,” Koushi sighs. “Remember that day I brought you home from practice? And there were these girls who took your picture?”

“If this is going where I think this is going, you’re gonna make me _very upset,_ Koushi.”

Despite everything, Koushi couldn’t help but smile at that. “It really did end up in the tabloids, did you know?”

“ _Oh my fucking god-_ “

“There were these two guys. Reading it here. Saying all these things about you,” Koushi confesses mutedly, fighting back the rage-fuelled demon that’s threatening to rise up again at the mere _thought_ of it. “And I should have walked away. I know that. But I wasn’t just going to let them talk about you like that, Tooru. I _wasn’t._ ”

Tooru is quiet for a moment, hands tightening where they’re still grasping his own. Koushi lets him process it as long as he likes. He knows it’s not exactly a good thing to be hearing, by any definition. 

“Sugawara Koushi,” he says slowly. “Do you mean to tell me that I found you moping around in a back alley, injuring your precious hands, because you were beating yourself up over kicking some asshole’s butt and _defending my virtue?_ ”

“God, Tooru, when you put it like _that-_ “

“ _Holy shit._ ”

“I know it was stupid, okay!”

“I am _so_ turned on by you right now, you don’t even know.”

“I was just-“ Koushi breaks off, as the meaning of Tooru’s last statement catches up with him. What? “ _What?_ ”

“I _said,_ that is the singular hottest thing anyone’s ever done for me in my entire life and it’s making me want to bang,” Tooru clarifies sunnily. And then he says more things after that, except Koushi’s mind completely tunes them out because it’s going through the process of short-circuiting from overload.

What? What? _What?_

Did Tooru just say turned on? 

Did Tooru just say hot?

Did Tooru just say _bang?_

And not the word bang that means a loud noise but the slang word _bang_ that actually means have sex? 

With Koushi?

As in Tooru and sex with Koushi actually existed in one sentence in the history of Koushi’s life?

Does not compute.

Restart brain, yes or no?

Tooru flicks his forehead. 

Koushi blinks back to reality to find Tooru smiling at him indulgently. “Stop being so serious, Kou-chan,” he drawls, dropping his finger to trace the path of heat burning across Koushi’s cheeks. “Yeah, it was stupid, and next time, you should come to me immediately so _I_ can kick their asses.”

“Now you’re just missing the point.”

“But!” He holds up a hand, and turns his head to the mouth of the alley, like he’s trying to find some kind of evidence from Koushi’s most recent piece of stupidity. From this angle, Koushi can see the tips of his ears, poking out from beneath his ‘artfully tousled’ hair. 

They’re red.

“But, thank you,” Tooru ducks his head. It’s a shy gesture, one that Tooru normally doesn’t employ because Oikawa Tooru is anything but shy. His face is suffused by the soft glow of pleasure in whorls of scarlet and pink and crimson. Like a painting. A study in blush. Up close, it’s even more enchanting - something Koushi could spend hours tracing over, picking out shades of red he never knew existed, and naming them adorable, endearing, cute, _beautiful._ “For defending me. Thank you, Koushi.”

Something erupts in Koushi’s chest at those words. Something warm and burning, but not painful. It spreads throughout his body in a slow, languid crawl of heat, equal parts fondness and affection and love.

Tooru is a special kind of beautiful when he’s shy. 

Koushi loves it. 

Koushi loves him. 

And even though Tooru doesn’t feel the same way, he still knows exactly what to say to help Koushi get over himself. To get him out of his head when he’s thinking too much. To bring to him back to the world and help him see it clearly, without the filmy lens of panic and worry blurring the edges.

That’s just what they’ve always done. They take care of each other, support each other, defend each other, and help each other get over their respective weaknesses. They would walk through heaven and hell for each other and they’d do it without hesitation or thought. That’s how it is when you’ve got a bond like theirs, forged and strengthened through time, through shared happiness and suffering. 

Through love.

And maybe for Tooru, it’s not romantic love.

But still, it’s a love he treasures with all his heart. 

He’d almost forgotten, in the whirlwind of want and hurt of these past few days, in the constant, low ache of pining he’s endured over the years. 

Before anything else, he and Tooru are each other’s best friends. 

And that’s a forever kind of deal, too.

“Always, Tooru,” he replies, tucking that look away and framing the memory in gold edges for colder times. “I probably won’t do it like that anymore, though. Because I’m not a caveman.”

Tooru’s smile turns cheeky. “Oh, Sugawara-sama!”

Koushi pushes him. “Don’t start! That was what got me into this mess in the first place.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Tooru laughs, drawing close again. “Allow me to shower you with my gratitude,” he whispers, putting his arms around Koushi, deliberately slow, as if he’s giving Koushi the chance to deny him the contact and pull away. 

Normally, this would be when all the warning bells start ringing in Koushi’s head. _Too tempting an offer,_ they would say. _Too close. Can’t be allowed. No._

But-

_Just this once._

Koushi has been very bad at controlling himself today already, anyway. Just for now. Just for today.

Once is okay.

Tooru’s arms are home. His fingers run through Koushi’s hair aimlessly, tenderly. His lips are soft as cherry blossom petals come down from their branches to rest upon the skin of Koushi’s forehead. His kiss lights the simmering warmth in Koushi’s blood to a blaze, and like this, it doesn’t even matter that Koushi can’t make himself believe that he is the most precious thing Tooru will ever touch. 

Eventually, he lets himself sink even deeper into the embrace, leaning his head against the chiseled wing of Tooru’s collarbone. 

Tooru still smells like cocoa butter and sweat.

It’s nice.

He manages a small smile, closes his eyes and, if only for this one time, allows himself to just be.

  


* * *

  
“He called a truce with Tobio-chan, you know.”

Koushi looks up from where he’s searching the venue for any stray forgotten objects. Yui is sitting on one of the chairs they’re supposed to be stacking, chin on her hand, observing Tooru interact with the moms thoughtfully. They’re all big fans of the great Oikawa-san, apparently. They’re wondering why his _surprise appearance_ in this event wasn’t listed on the brochure.

It’s not an event. It’s a _violin workshop._ Three guesses why volleyball superstar Oikawa-san’s ‘guest appearance’ didn’t make its way to the brochure.

Yui goes on, “He was surprisingly good with the children.”

Koushi blinks at her. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said about Tooru since you met him, Yui.”

“I mean, I guess I can see why they’d easily relate to each other, considering they’re about the same mental age.”

“...And the magic is gone.”

“But he did it for you,” she turns to look at him critically, raising her eyebrow as if Koushi had anything to do with it. “‘ _For Koushi,_ ’ he said. Of course, Tobio-chan gave in for the exact same reason, but-“

“What’s this I’m hearing?” Koushi questions playfully. “Are you finally ready to approve of my relationship, evil stepmother?”

“Koushi, you’re about ten years too young for me to even consider accepting the courtship advances of a _troll,_ ” Yui shoots back, looking scandalized. “It won’t benefit my nefarious plans. Besides, we’ve got a featured pianist coming in for our next concert. I have high hopes for you yet.” She takes out her phone and opens it to the page displaying the specifics of their future concert schedules for emphasis. 

Koushi might as well start asking the important questions. “Is he old?”

“He’s a foreigner.”

“So he’s old.”

“But can you just imagine the _accent?_ ” Yui clutches her phone to her chest dreamily. “Foreign musicians are like fine wine, Kou. They just get better with age.”

“Ohmygod.”

“My darling, dearest Koushi-chan,” she intones dramatically. “It has always been your evil stepmother’s greatest dream to see you married off to some senile old fart three times your age who would take you far, far away and lock you up in his secret, wicked dungeon-“

“Yui, _stop talking,_ ” Koushi throws some blank papers at her. “I won’t be able to even _look_ at the featured pianist at the rate you’re going.”

She laughs, thoroughly amused with herself.

“I’m serious!” Koushi insists. “Just because I told you not to set me up with the conductors doesn’t _mean_ -”

“So, you _want_ me to set you up with the conductors?” she scrolls through her phone again, looking far more enthusiastic about this than she has any right to be. “Because if you’re so big on dating _locally,_ then rumor has it that the next one is Japane-“ She breaks off, mouth pursing. “Oh. It’s Miya.”

Koushi pauses. “...Which Miya?”

“Does it matter?” Yui asks, rolling her eyes. “The stupid one.”

Koushi doesn’t even try to hide his smile. “Neither of them are stupid.”

“Hm, don’t know about that.” She scrolls through her screen some more, clicking her tongue. “You didn’t really want to get a date sometime during this concert anyway, did you?”

“Yui, I don’t know how you missed it, but _I’m in a relationship._ ” At Yui’s deadpan look, Koushi sighs. “And it’s fake, okay, but he’s... we’re... It’s complicated.”

“Aren’t they all?” Yui murmurs under her breath. 

“Tooru really _is_ a good person, you know,” Koushi says, smoothing out the papers he’d gathered back on his lap. “You just have to try to get to know him. He _did_ call a truce with Tobio.” 

And Koushi’s still wondering how _that_ came about. Tooru hasn’t exactly made any effort to keep his dislike of Tobio a secret. They butt heads almost every time they meet each other. It’s amusing, when you think about it - an adult quarrelling with a child, but that’s just how Tooru is sometimes. Iwaizumi likes to blame it on Tooru’s ‘shitty personality.’ Koushi thinks it’s cute, honestly, but nobody asks him so. 

“You know sometimes, I squint really hard and tilt my head to the side and I think I see what _you_ saw in him that made you like him so much,” Yui muses, glancing back at Tooru, who’s now crouched down by Shou-chan’s little sister and letting her play with his all-important hair. “But then I blink, and...” A shout. Tooru huffs and starts chasing after the kids, pointing indignantly at the ones who are laughing the hardest. “Nevermind, he’s still an asshole.”

“Just give him a chance,” Koushi urges lowly.

Yui leans back into her chair carelessly, sighing. “I’ll do my best. But I’m not making any promises.”

“That’s all I ask,” Koushi relaxes, mollified. “But enough about me! Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re talking to Daichi again.”

“Well, that’s because he wants to go out on a date.”

“That’s great!”

Yui pouts.

“That’s... not great?”

“I dunno, Kou,” Yui admits, sinking further into her seat. “I mean, I want to? But I also don’t want to yet? It’s complicated.”

Koushi feigns stroking an imaginary beard. “Aren’t they all?”

“Ugh, don’t throw my words back at me. You’ve never done it before,” Yui complains, childishly squirming in her seat. “I don’t like the influence this boy has exerted on you, young man, I hope you know-“ She sits up abruptly, face melting into that plotting mask that has never done one good thing for Koushi’s sanity. 

She smirks. “But what if you came with us, Koushi?”

“Yui, no. I’m not third-wheeling your date with Daichi.”

“You’re not going to be third-wheeling if you brought the _Boyfriend,_ ” Yui sings. “Then, it’ll just be a double date.”

“After what happened during my _last date?_ ” Koushi asks, desperately trying appeal to what seems to be her currently nonexistent compassion. “You can’t do this to me.”

“You told me to give him a chance, didn’t you? This is me, officially offering that chance.”

“But _Yui_ -“

“I didn’t want to say this, but you also owe me, Kou.”

Koushi opens his mouth. Closes it. He’s fresh out of protests. Yui smiles at him smugly, assured as she was of her victory. Koushi drops his head into the papers in his hands and lets out a defeated groan.

This is going to be a Fucking Disaster 2.0.

  


* * *

  
Tooru honestly has had _enough_ of this day. Between his talk with Iwa-chan and then with Tobio-chan, and what happened in the alley that he really just wants to play in his head on repeat until the end of time, he has more than reached his quota of extreme emotions from either end of the spectrum, thank you ever so. 

But then-

“Tooru, I need you to go out on a date with me.”

Tooru chokes on his spit.

  


* * *

  
_Okay, hotstuff,_ Tooru tells his reflection on his phone screen, under the guise of checking the time. _You’ve gotten a whole week to prepare. You can do this._

It’s a weekend amusement park date. No big deal. Tooru’s been through a million and one weekend amusement park dates. Tooru can go through a weekend amusement park date in his sleep. Tooru eats weekend amusement park dates for _breakfast._

He knows all the tricks. 

He’s totally got it. 

In fact, Tooru should have thought of this location in the first place for the first date. He realizes he’d limited himself severely by deciding to _start small_ and asking Koushi out for just a movie. That’s the reason why date number one had been a total fail. Because every time the universe decided to foil his plans, he didn’t leave himself with much wiggle room for other options. 

But this is an amusement park. There are so many possible fun, romantic activities in an amusement park. If one thing doesn’t turn out the way Tooru wants it to turn out, he can easily move on to the next ride. And the next. There’s no end to rides that Tooru can try to be romantic in. The universe can’t possibly mess up _all of them._

Date number two is _not_ going to be a total fail.

Because this time, Oikawa Tooru is practically _swimming_ in _options._

He smiles smugly at himself, visualizing the layout of the park in his head. 

First of all, there’s the ferris wheel. Two people alone in a car, slowly being carried up to the sun and the stars. Yes, it’s cliche. But there’s a reason why things are called classics, and it’s because they work every time. 

How far away should Tooru sit from Koushi, though? Not too close, obviously. Tooru doesn’t want to freak Koushi out. But not too far away, either. Also obviously. Or maybe they should sit on opposite sides? Spending the entire ride facing each other, framed by the sky, is also kinda romantic. But ferris wheel cars are really big. If, for example, Tooru manages to completely romance Koushi sometime during the ride up, then how far forward would he have to lean so that they can kiss at the top of the world? Sounds disastrous. It’s like he’s deliberately asking the universe to wreck his game. Tooru mentally shakes his head. Sittting beside Koushi is the way to go, definitely.

And then, there’s no end to games he can show off and be manly at. He can win Koushi a teddy bear. Or two. Or more than two, if that’s what Koushi wants. He’ll fill up Koushi’s entire _bed_ with teddy bears he can cuddle while remembering fondly that time Tooru shot down a spaceship on his behalf so he can receive a substandard stuffed toy that probably hasn’t been laundered for a very long time. 

Tooru’s eye twitches. _Stop that, you’re killing your own buzz._

He should probably try another game, though. He doesn’t actually want to shoot down a spaceship. It’s gonna send the wrong message. Tooru is an advocate of universal peace. Also, what if he gets taken by aliens, and they probe his brain and then see _that_ particular blasphemous memory? No fucking way.

Tooru _believes._

But he’s not very good at the strength-based games. 

Don’t get any ideas, Tooru is plenty strong. His serve is practically a spike. It can tear off a receiver’s arms. It bounces up to the second-story bleachers because it’s so powerful. Tooru is one of the national volleyball team’s service ace _cannons._ If he manages to land the ball within bounds, that is. But that’s another story. (Also, he’s improved since high school, okay. His service accuracy rating is at eighty-nine percent. If you round that off, that’s a _ninety._ )

There’s just a difference between slamming a volleyball down after a good serve toss, and slamming a hammer down and hoping it’s strong enough to hit the bell. Because it _never hits the bell._

Amusement park games are fucking rigged. 

Okay, _fine._

He’ll shoot down the spaceship. All the more reason for Koushi to appreciate just how much Tooru loves him.

This is going to work out.

It’s not going to be like last time. 

Tooru is gonna woo Koushi so hard, he’ll faint right into Tooru’s arms and wake up wanting to wed. 

That’s the plan. 

Wooing. 

And then fainting. 

And then wedding.

Sometimes, even Tooru genuinely surprises himself with how smart he actually is. 

_I dare you to screw me up today, universe._

_I fucking dare you._

Tooru is _ready._

But then the date starts off _badly,_ because Micchan and Sawa-chan had the _audacity_ to be late.

Tooru and Koushi have been standing outside for half an hour already. 

They’ve been passed by a grand total of twenty fangirls out on their own dates with their respective boyfriends, all of whom wanted to take pictures with Oikawa-san. Koushi had to be the photographer. Nineteen times. That’s nineteen times Tooru could have had a photo taken _with_ Koushi, except he didn’t because he had to accomodate the fans _because_ Micchan and Sawa-chan are fucking late. Only one had the decency to ask for a photo with them both, and Tooru smiled widely for her and also gave her his autograph. 

It pays to suck up to Oikawa Tooru through Sugawara Koushi.

“They’re here,” Koushi breathes, at last, gesturing at the couple walking towards them hand-in-hand. 

Sawa-chan’s other hand is sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Suga,” he says, shamefaced. “Our, ah, train was... delayed.”

“Really?” Koushi asks, nonchalantly examining his fingernails. “Did the train give you that hickey on your neck, too?”

Sawa-chan sputters and then hurriedly tries to fix the collar of his shirt to hide the mark as much as he can. Micchan just grins at them smugly. “You know _trains._ ”

Tooru glares at her, abruptly realizing that there’s one factor about this date he’s completely failed to consider. 

It’s a _double_ date. 

That’s _two_ couples out on the _same_ date. 

The thing about having two couples out on the same date is that one of them is always bound to look better than the other, and now, Micchan has the upper hand before the date even _started,_ because her significant other is showing obvious marks of their steamy nsfw train interlude. 

That’s not fair. 

Maybe Tooru also wants a steamy nsfw train interlude with Koushi. And maybe Tooru also _wants_ to look all smug because he gave Koushi a hickey while they were getting their kinky on in public transportation. And _maybe_ Tooru wants OiSuga to look like the better ship that they obviously are because not only are they twice the normal amount of pretty, they also don’t start and stop intermittently, leaving their sailors stranded in the middle of the fucking sea. 

Although, technically, they haven’t even left the harbor yet because Tooru and Koushi aren’t actually going out for real.

But _details._

Tooru pulls Koushi into his arms peevishly. “Oh, yes, I do know a little something about _trains,_ ” he replies, openly feeling up Koushi’s ass in retaliation.

Except, of course, Tooru’s train of thought completely derails because _wow,_ Koushi has a really nice ass. It’s firm and tight but also kind of... bouncy? Tooru squeezes it experimentally again. 

_Bouncy._

“Tooru!” Koushi’s eyes are the widest Tooru has ever seen them as he pushes away from Tooru hastily. Tooru’s mind in the gutter doesn’t take in this development as quickly as it should have so Tooru is left staring at his hands, still flexing around the empty air where Koushi’s ass had been moments ago. 

_So bouncy._

Koushi slaps his hands down. “What did you think you were _doing?_ ”

“Wow, _Boyfriend,_ ” Micchan adds, snapping Tooru out of his sexy Koushi imaginations - now with new and improved ass! - and proving herself to be the very efficient cockblock that she is. “Copping a feel in public, how _classy._ ”

“Just about as classy as a public quickie in the train station, _Micchan._ ”

Micchan’s smile turns venomous. Tooru returns every bit of hostility she’s got, drawing himself up to his full height and staring her down his nose. The corners of his mouth twitch down distastefully. His hands settle on his hips, body tense. She mirrors his posture exactly, defiantly, tilting her chin up to compensate for the height difference. Static electricity crackles between their gazes. The sky turns dark and lightning flashes and thunder rumbles. A Sawano OST plays in the background.

_...Don’t lose your waaaa-_

“Oi! If you two peacocks are done comparing feather trains, we’d like to go inside sometime today, thanks!”

Micchan doesn’t relax her battle stance. “This isn’t over, _Boyfriend,_ ” she declares, drawing a finger across her throat.

“ _Bite_ me, Micchan.”

“Sorry, I have my own lover I’ve already bitten.” She saunters forward, and throws him a self-satisfied grin. “I can’t help but notice I’ve beaten you to that, too. So sad, _Boyfriend-chan._ ”

Oh, it is so _on._

  


* * *

  
Tooru is acting really weird. 

And before anyone asks, yes, most emphatically _yes,_ Koushi _is_ talking about the unsolicited ass grab in front of his friends that might have sent every one of his erotic synapses sparking if it didn’t also make him feel like a blushing virgin on his wedding night, being touched for the very first time.

Because _that_ feeling just makes him a hundred different kinds of defensive.

Koushi might have also discovered that he’s maybe just the teensiest bit tsundere, but that’s beside the point.

The point is-

Actually, Koushi doesn’t even want to think about what the point is anymore, it’s just making him depressed.

As if he isn’t already having a hard enough time resisting Tooru’s sex appeal.

God _damn_ Tooru’s sex appeal.

Why couldn’t Tooru just have been born a troll? Or some kind of sea sponge? Or maybe even an alien, like he’s always wanted, because gods know how those creatures reproduce, but judging from all the shitty movies Koushi’s had to suffer through all these years, they’re not exactly very attractive. They’re very _green,_ certainly, but not attractive. 

Except some of them have tentacles.

_Ohmygod, shut up, brain._

Not that it would matter if Tooru was a troll or a sea sponge or an alien, Koushi would probably still have found a way to fall madly in love with him. 

And yes, he knows exactly how far gone he is, but thanks for the reminder.

At least, Tooru seems to be ignoring him today in favor of his pissing contest with Yui. 

Like in the bumper cars, where Tooru had insisted that Koushi share the car with him but spent the better portion of the ride trying to run Yui over ‘legally’ before she could manage to do the same to them. He might have also heard Yui hiss, “Don’t look so smug just because you turned your own boyfriend into a human shield, _Boyfriend,_ ” to Tooru when they were clambering out of their cars, but Koushi also has a very imaginative mind so. 

Or in one of the water rides, where Tooru very deliberately left the space beside Koushi free for Yui because he thought that was the area of maximum possible water exposure. (He was wrong.) 

Or in the carousel, where Tooru ditched him completely to get on the highest horse and lord it over the rest of them for the remainder of the turn, at least until it started going down in the way that horses in carousels usually do.

Or now, where they seem to be having some kind of competition over who would win the most games. He and Daichi just kind of get left behind while they jump from one booth to the next, fighting all the way. 

“Do you think they even still remember that _we’re_ here?” Daichi asks.

Koushi gives him a sideways glance. “Sorry,” he says ruefully. After all, out of all of them, Daichi is the most innocent party. He doesn’t even know about Koushi’s fake relationship. He really just wanted to go out on a date with Yui. A date that she’s also been largely ignoring in favor of her pissing contest with Tooru. “This probably wasn’t what you planned when you asked her out.”

Daichi shrugs, unperturbed. “It wasn’t, but I don’t mind,” he smiles fondly as Yui tries to subtly sabotage Tooru’s game. “I think it’s kinda cute, don’t you?”

Koushi watches as they both lose and loudly start protesting against said loss. The guy on the other side of the booth looks extremely overwhelmed. Tooru, on the other hand, looks like he’s just about to climb over the table to swipe everything down with his bare hands in an effort to assert his superiority. His face is slowly turning red, voice getting higher by the second and... Daichi’s right, it _is_ cute. “Yeah,” he agrees, grinning to himself.

And then he realizes that he and Daichi are currently basking in an atmosphere of companionable sentimentality over the people that they love, when it’s actually only Daichi who has a chance of ever going anywhere with those feelings. 

His fist shoots out.

“ _Suga!_ ” Daichi barks, doubled over in pain. “What did I do?”

“When did you learn to be all cool, huh?” Koushi huffs. “You’re supposed to be a dork, Daichi!”

“I think you bruised my _kidney._ ”

“Ohmygod, you’re just as bad as Tooru. I didn’t even try.”

Daichi starts muttering something that sounds suspiciously uncomplimentary. 

“What was that?” Koushi asks sweetly, raising a brow.

“I said I’m good.”

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

“Sometimes, I think it’s a bad thing that you and Yui are friends,” Daichi finally straightens up, gingerly patting his side. “You just encourage each other’s wickedness.”

“One day, Daichi, Yui and I will take over the world,” Koushi tells him matter-of-factly.

“I don’t doubt that.” 

And there he goes again, with the sappy smile. 

Koushi bites his lip, chest aching, and looks away. 

Daichi loves the same way he faces everything else. Straightforward and honest, with a sappy smile telling Koushi that even though the state of his relationship with the person he loved is complicated right now, Daichi’s feelings never are. That they’re true and beyond any doubt, borne on strong, unwavering shoulders - the constant, steady note upon which the rest of the orchestra tunes itself.

And it hurts to look at it because it never fails to shine a light on the shortcomings of Koushi’s own hopeless feelings. “Hey, Daichi,” he calls quietly. “You and Yui have broken up how many times now?”

“You don’t hold back, do you?” Daichi chuckles. “Fourteen times.”

Koushi pauses, taken aback. _Fourteen times._ Even he hadn’t expected it to be that much. “You’ve broken up _fourteen_ times, and in all those times, did you never consider... maybe just finding someone else?”

Daichi is quiet. Koushi glances at him, just in case that was a question he shouldn’t have been asking, but Daichi doesn’t look angry or unsettled or anxious. Just thoughtful. 

“I’m not an idiot, Suga,” he says finally. “I know what’s wrong with our relationship. Me and Yui... We’ve been together for so long, and yet, every time we feel like we’re about to take this really big step forward in our relationship, we get scared. I can give you the reason for every single one of those breakups, easy - introducing friends, meeting the family, going to the same conservatory, moving in together, applying to the same orchestra, getting a _pet - every time_ there’s a big step, the first thing we think is that we’re going too fast and we need to take a break. And then we act the way we do, and we try to hate each other so much because maybe _this_ time, one of us will find a reason to actually move on and be with someone new. 

“And yeah, I guess if I do try hard enough and stop comparing every girl I meet to her, maybe I’ll find someone amazing,” Daichi meets his gaze, eyes clear and certain. “But I don’t want to. I want _this._ What do I care if it’s not easy? Everyone knows that nothing worth having ever is. So even when I’m not confident, even if others tell me I don’t stand a chance, _I_ don’t tell myself that. Because I know that this... that _she_ is worth having.”

The thing about Daichi is he’s a dork. He sleeps before ten, tells the absolute worst dad jokes and has a horrible fashion sense. Ninety-nine percent dork. It’s easy to forget about the one percent, where it’s buried beneath all of _that,_ but the part of Daichi that is not a dork is the part of Daichi that’s an actual heartthrob with the kind of hotheaded stubbornness that would blaze a path to victory out of the sheer force of his will and tenacity. 

Koushi definitely isn’t forgetting it now. “Ohmygod, Daichi.”

“What?”

“I just thought of the best idea.”

“Oh no.”

“Okay so, hypothetically, what if you made me fall for you with that speech-“

“Suga.”

“-and since you’re _technically_ not in a relationship right now, and anyway, our significant others have left us in the dust, why don’t you just ask for my hand in marriage so we can ride out into the sunset-“

“Are you kidding me? Oikawa will fly into a jealous rage and cut off my dick.”

“In other words, it’s the _perfect_ plan!”

“Did you just hatch a plan that risks my future so you can _further_ your romantic endeavors?”

“I knew you were a good friend, Daichi!”

_“Suga!”_

The evil aura starts leaking out and Koushi laughs. It’s either that or cry.

Because Koushi-

_Maybe I’ll find someone amazing, but I don’t want to._

_Every other guy in the world stands in Tooru’s shadow._

-feels that way, too. Even if Tooru will never see him like that. Even though he’s never confident, and for good reason. Even though he, himself, knows that he doesn’t stand a chance. Even if there’s no use trying to tell himself otherwise. Even if Tooru is worth having, but is also someone Koushi is never actually going to have. Even if he’s not like Daichi in any other way, because he’s just one hundred percent dork, zero percent heartthrob. Not straightforward. Not honest. Definitely not strong. There’s no use comparing their situations at all, but-

Even then.

How does it feel, he can’t help but think wistfully. To have a love like this, and still be guaranteed happiness?

Koushi pats at Daichi’s arm apologetically. Daichi takes it with good humor that then turns into alarm when they realize that the other two have quite literally left them in the dust. Koushi laughs even harder.

_Must be nice._

But it’s okay.

His nails dig into the skin of his palms for the second time this week.

He’s okay.

  


* * *

  
“Okay, they said they’ll wait for us by the ferris wheel,” Micchan looks up from her phone with an already familiar glare. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’ve been paying attention, _Boyfriend._ ”

“You weren’t being all that observant, either, if I’m remembering correctly,” Tooru shoots back sulkily. 

The ferris wheel is on the other side of the grounds. How is it that when they got to the ‘getting separated’ portion of the double date, he got stuck with the wrong person? This is supposed to be a romantic opportunity. Tooru is supposed to be pulling his best moves on Koushi right at this moment, in preparation for the grand ferris wheel climax. Instead, he’s dodging fists and trading accusing glances with Michimiya Yui, of all people, Koushi’s self-proclaimed other best friend and not even a romantic rival.

This would have looked better on paper if she was, at the very least, a romantic rival. 

“There was a very annoying pest I had to crush,” Micchan says pointedly. “I was distracted.”

As it turns out, that insult doesn’t actually sting as much as Micchan intended it to. Tooru is friends with Iwa-chan, after all, and he hasn’t exactly gotten more creative with his insults over the years. But Tooru still can’t resist sticking his tongue out at her.

“So mature, _Boyfriend,_ ” Micchan rolls her eyes. “How does the the rest of the world keep itself away?”

“Can you stop calling me that? It’s the most annoying thing I’ve ever been called, and I’ve been called a lot of annoying things, like Shittykawa and Trashykawa and Crappykawa and Idiotkawa-“

“That’s a lot of accurate nicknames.”

“Ohmygod!” Tooru throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Look, I know you don’t like me-“

Micchan scoffs. 

“What, we’re gonna just pretend that I don’t know?” Tooru demands. “I’m not stupid, okay.”

Micchan eyes him sharply, mouth seeming forever frozen on a deep scowl. Around them, the world bustles on with the sounds of people chattering, children shouting, the clank of metal against metal and the sizzle of amusement park food. But Micchan is a singular point of chilly stillness, even as she trembles with an emotion Tooru can’t name, or stand to look at for a very long time. 

Tooru tears his eyes away, feeling ashamed without knowing why. 

Wordlessly, they start walking again, this time enveloped by the kind of tension that’s so thick, it almost feels suffocating. 

Tooru doesn’t get her. It’s not like it isn’t true. She very obviously hates him. She’s very obviously hated him since high school. What’s so bad about pointing out something everyone already knows? 

And it’s not as if Tooru hasn’t tried to make nice, either, because he has. Granted, he didn’t expend much effort on it, but Koushi had asked, and he had _tried._ At least he can say that. Micchan’s the one who hasn’t even considered it. That’s no longer _Tooru’s_ fault.

They’re near the ferris wheel when she stops suddenly and turns to face him once again. 

“I don’t hate you, Oikawa.” Even though the coldness of her brown eyes tells a completely different story. “I don’t even know you.”

“Well, Micchan, I think you and I both know I’m not the one who’s to blame for that,” Tooru replies imperiously, not deigning to explain himself further. She can extrapolate.

Her mouth twists. “You’re not understanding me. I don’t hate _you,_ ” she repeats, biting the words out severely. “I hate what you keep on _doing._ ”

Tooru blinks at her in confusion. _I hate what you keep on doing?_ What’s he doing? He hasn’t done anything to her that she could consider unbearably offensive enough to warrant her foul treatment. In fact, he hasn’t even done anything to her at all. He racks his brain trying to figure it out, because even though he’s sure, he also has an inexplicable sinking feeling - a kind of desperate rejection clawing at his chest, that instinct in his gut screaming _no,_ get away, this will _hurt._

It’s the instinct in his gut that Tooru’s never been good at listening to, outside of the volleyball court, especially when he can’t say why it feels that way.

So even when his tongue feels like it’s sticking to the roof of his mouth, he protests, “But I’m not doing anything.”

Something unreadable flashes across Micchan’s eyes. It’s gone as fast as it comes. Whatever it was, though, it makes her shoulders sag and her gaze drop to the ground. The aura she’s projecting is unsure, almost, as if she can’t decide what she wants to say to him now. Tooru’s brows furrow in confusion at her obvious inner conflict, but before he can say anything about it, she raises her head to give him a smile.

It’s a sad, caustic thing.

“Stop hurting him.”

But it’s a whisper that’s drowned out all too easily by the noise surrounding them and Tooru isn’t really sure if he’s heard her correctly. 

He mustn’t have. 

Because.

It doesn’t make sense, does it? “What-“

“Over here!” It’s Koushi. “Yui, Tooru! Unless you’re not done fighting over who’s got the bigger dick, in which case, pretend you didn’t see us!”

_“Suga!”_

Micchan turns away, waving her arm enthusiastically, all smiles once again. She jogs to them without a backward glance, looking, for all intents and puposes, as if the past few minutes haven’t happened at all. Tooru follows at a slower pace, still trying to puzzle it all out in his head.

_Stop hurting him._

If Tooru heard right, he doesn’t even have to ask himself who she’s referring to. The only him that mattered to them both is standing in front of Tooru, offering him a blue, sticky cloud of cotton candy with an easy grin.

“You okay?” Koushi asks, half-deviously, knowing that being stuck together for any amount of time would be trying for Tooru and Micchan both. 

Tooru barely hears it, mind still whirling at the implications of what Micchan might have said. 

Stop hurting him? He stares at his best friend, his most important person, his first and best love and tries to get the words unglued from the back of his throat.

_What am I doing, Koushi?_

_How am I hurting you?_

Could it be..? 

What if..? 

What if Koushi had feelings for him, too? Then... Then wouldn’t this farce of a relationship sting for him just as much as it does for Tooru? What if this is what Micchan had known that Tooru hadn’t all this time? It would explain a lot of things, about her and the rest of Koushi’s other friends. 

...No. 

Tooru shakes his head, quashing the thought before he’s completely taken over by hopes and dreams.

More likely, what if Koushi knows? What if he knows that Tooru is in love with him, has been in love with him for the longest time, and he doesn’t feel the same? What if he’s wrestling with himself on how to deny Tooru and say _no, I don’t want you like that,_ because that would hurt him just as much, wouldn’t it? Koushi has the self-destructive tendency to blame himself for everything. Tooru knows that. Micchan knows that, too. It would explain a lot of things about her, and the rest of Koushi’s other friends, too.

But just the very thought makes Tooru feel like he’s drowning, like he’s trying to keep himself afloat but the water’s already up to his neck and still rising, and he’s helpless against the rising tide. 

Iwa-chan had asked him, _Will you be okay with going back to being just friends if, when this is over, you don’t get what you want?_ But he’d already known the answer, even when Tooru hadn’t been able to say it. 

The _no_ that had been so very clearly blatant, Tooru might as well have screamed it. 

But- 

Koushi’s still waiting for an answer to his question, smiling carelessly, looking like he’s utterly enjoying the thought of Micchan and Tooru and their mutual dislike for each other. His eyes dance with unvoiced laughter as he takes a chunk of cotton candy for himself, fingers slick with sugar and dye. After, he licks his pointer finger coquettishly, like a kitten, and Tooru’s mouth goes dry, and his stomach clenches and his blood boils with want. 

Nothing has changed. 

Koushi is acting the way he’s always acted - happy and content and blissfully oblivious to Tooru’s feelings.

Nothing is wrong. 

If things had even been the slightest bit different, Tooru would have been the first person in the world who could tell. Tooru has been friends with Koushi all his life. He knows Koushi like the back of his hand. He can read Koushi like a book. He can tell what Koushi is saying with his body, just as easily as he could hear all the words Koushi chooses not to say. 

There’s no one in the universe who understands Koushi better than Tooru.

And to Tooru, nothing has changed. 

He must have heard wrong.

Or if he hadn’t then, _Micchan_ must have been wrong. 

Tooru shakes his head, trying to ward off the doubts she’s planted in his mind. He’s not going to let her win. He’s not going to stop pursuing Koushi just because she hates him. So what if she hates him?

So _what?_

The only feelings Tooru has to be concerned about working on at the moment is _Koushi’s._

He’s picking a chunk of cotton candy again, but before his fingers make it anywhere, Tooru takes his hand and directs all of it to his own mouth. The sweet, cloying flavor explodes in his mouth, but more importantly, so does the taste of Koushi’s fingers. He sucks at them lightly, licking at the tips, reaping the rewards of giving in to his desire, with the flavor of Koushi’s skin so clear and pronounced in his mouth. 

Koushi’s eyes are wide and blown black.

If looks could kill, Micchan’s glower could have murdered Tooru thrice over.

Tooru gives Koushi’s fingers a parting lick and a kiss, before pulling them back and patting at them cheerfully. Tooru smirks at Koushi’s dazed expression, finally responding to his question with a smug, “I’m great!” and sashaying to the back of the ferris wheel line. 

A successful play has never looked more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- All HQ ships are equally amazing, Oikawa is just being a brat. 
> 
> \- Sawano is Sawano Hiroyuki, a composer who does the OST for a lot of anime, apparently? I kinda just asked my brother what OST he liked the best, to which he replied, “Anything by Sawano,” and then proceeded to ‘educate’ me about hype music (basically he showed me this fight scene in this anime Kill la Kill, which was where the song lyrics _Don’t lose your way_ came from). I’m very confused about Kill la Kill. I just heard the song and I couldn’t, for the life of me, delete it because it cracks me up every time I read it there? I know it’s not actually funny but I’m a Big Dork, and... I would just like to apologize for myself OTL.
> 
> \- I’m not endorsing the dynamics of the DaiYui relationship. I honestly think they should, at least, communicate better. I’m also not saying Daichi’s decision is the right decision for his situation. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, I guess you can say he’s just trying to live his life and make the decision he feels is best for himself. But also: #heartthrobDaichiftw
> 
> \- Oikawa Tooru, pls explain how it’s possible that you’ve just been handed the right answer on a silver platter and yet, somehow you _still_ managed to make the wrong conclusions??? Go sit in the corner and think about what you did. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define family


	9. define family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> family - a social unit of two or more people related by blood; parentage; ancestry
> 
> In other words: “H-Hello, Sugawara-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!! (*^ ^*) -showers snowflake-shaped confetti-

It’s on the internet. 

Koushi tries not to look at the picture that came with the article, but fails. Why not. He’s already seen three other pictures similar to this one, all in different websites carrying the exact same story, and varying only in their degrees of enthusiasm. 

This one has the best angle yet. 

How is it possible for them to be able to take such good pictures? It’s not even the least bit grainy. It looks like they took it from up close, it’s so clear. How expensive are their phones? Are they using cameras? Are they using zoom lenses? 

But aren’t zoom lenses super expensive? Or even just lenses in general? If you add that up with the camera, that’s more money than Koushi can reasonably compute in his _head._

He’d thought they were just normal fangirls. 

They’re not, it seems. 

They are, in fact, actually an underground military organization.

And now, thanks to them, Koushi’s most miserable moment to date is splashed all over the world wide web and the number two result in google when you type in the query _Oikawa Tooru boyfriend._

Because the number one result leads him to a post in Tooru’s fansite of the same picture in an even closer angle tagged nsfw (but why? Please explain?) where half the comments are a shoutout for someone named **toorusama4ever** to _FIC IT!!!_

...What does that even _mean?_

No, really. Koushi is legitimately concerned. 

But before he could even so much as open another tab, **toorusama4ever** finally heeds the public call, responding with an _im on it!_ which prompts an explosion of activity right before Koushi’s very eyes, with people commenting left and right, saying things like _bless your cow_ and _my body is ready_ and an _ovaries_exploding.gif._

Koushi had thought he can pretend like it never happened, just for the sake of not slowly going insane at the memory of Tooru’s tongue and Tooru’s mouth and the _heat,_ the _wet,_ the harsh _pull_ of desire in his gut. Of what Tooru’s lips look like, shaped around Koushi’s fingers. Of Tooru’s eyes, dark and intense, watching Koushi in a way that made his insides twist and sent his blood roaring in a hot rush, like a dam has just broken in his very veins.

It made Koushi feel wanton. 

And flustered.

And so, so unbearably miserable.

Not that it showed. Of course not. Nope, in all the pictures plastered all over the internet, Koushi is wanton and flustered and blushing hard enough to merit an ovaries exploding fucking _gif._

Way to play it cool, Koushi. Way to be subtle. Way to not be so overly obvious with your stupid attraction. 

Koushi wishes he’d never offered Tooru that godforsaken piece of cotton candy. 

Koushi also wishes he’d offered all of it, everything, again and again and again.

 _Now you know what it’s like,_ he thinks glumly. _To have Tooru look at you like that. Was it all you’ve ever dreamed it would be?_

Yes.

No.

For five seconds, Koushi had felt like the most desirable person in the world. Five seconds. Count to five, and just like that, it’s over. 

But he’d _had_ it, hadn’t he? It _did_ happen. It wasn’t a really elaborate daydream gone wrong. 

Even now, Koushi’s entire arm still tingles with the ghost of Tooru’s touch.

He should be grateful. He should press that memory like a flower, frame it in gilt, and hoard it the way he desperately hoards every other form of affection from Tooru he allows himself to have for the very long winter that is the rest of his life. Like what he’s done with every other memory – with holding Tooru’s hand, cuddling close, having dates; with feeling Tooru’s lips on the skin of his forehead and pretending it’s love; with fleeting moments he relives in dreams, where it’s almost as if Koushi is beautiful in Tooru’s eyes.

...Shouldn’t he? 

It’s the closest he’ll ever get. It’s close enough. Koushi has _learned_ to be grateful for close enough’s.

It’s just-

Maybe sometimes, Koushi wishes that he didn’t have to be so overwhelmingly thankful for Tooru’s future lover’s _leftovers._

Koushi shuts his laptop irritably and throws himself onto his bed. 

It’s supposed to be a good thing, loving your best friend. 

Koushi wonders where he went so terribly wrong.

His phone chimes, and Koushi almost doesn’t want to answer it, wants to just curl up into a ball, and hide from his woes behind layers and layers of blankets and pillows and darkness all day long.

But he can’t even manage that much because he’s pathetic.

He reaches for his phone and answers it blindly, snapping “Hello,” to the receiver in the most grumpy tone he can manage. Tooru can handle a weekend without him. Koushi is taking a _break._ Koushi would daresay he’s earned it.

“Is that any way to speak to your father, Koushi?”

Koushi sits up, spine snapping straight so quickly, his back might have cracked. _“Dad!”_

“You sound surprised,” comes his father’s booming voice, carrying over even through shitty phone connections. “Am I not allowed to call my own son?”

“No! I mean, of course you are! I mean-“ Koushi takes the phone away from his ear, covers the receiver, and screams into his pillow to get himself together before he starts getting flustered and ramble about his love life to his _father._ “It’s been a while, that’s all. Is everything okay?”

“There doesn’t have to be anything wrong for me to want to talk to you, Koushi,” the voice softens into the smooth baritone that read Koushi’s bedtime stories at night. Monotonously, which, Koushi suspects, is the reason why he used to fall asleep so easily.

He cradles the phone closer to his face, relaxing back into his covers and feeling nostalgic. “I know, Dad.”

“I do have a reason why I called, however.”

“Okay?”

“I understand that news lags from the big city to the country.” There’s a clicking noise in the background. “But is there any reason why half a dozen websites are all speculating about your sex life with Tooru-kun, before I even _knew_ that such a development in your relationship has taken place?”

Oh no. 

Oh no, oh no, oh no. This is not happening. Of all the things Koushi thought he would have to deal with in the course of this whole charade, this is the one scenario he had never counted on. His father barely knows how to work an ancient computer, let alone trawl the internet gossip sites. From this, at least, Koushi had been a hundred percent sure he was safe. 

But of course it’s happening. Of course. Welcome to the long, drawn-out joke that is Sugawara Koushi’s miserable love life.

“I-“ Koushi sighs in defeat. “How did you know?” 

“Trainees gossip.”

He’s using the kind of voice that Koushi wishes he owned, the one that always makes him feel the size of a pea, and want to fess up all his sins. The kind of voice that tells Koushi that even though all his father said was _trainees gossip,_ he actually really means, _I do not_ like _having to learn about this from trainee gossip, explain yourself, Sugawara Koushi, and there had better be a good reason or I will._

_Not._

_Be._

_Pleased._

“It’s still new,” he tries, and when the only answer is disapproving silence, Koushi weakly lies, “I was going to tell you eventually.”

“And what about this report with an ‘inside source from the team’ claiming that Tooru-kun’s manager is upset with him after having caught you two _canoodling_ in the locker room showers for the _fourth time_ in as many months?”

Koushi sputters. “That is _not_ true! What kind of websites are you _looking at,_ Dad?!”

“I would hope, Koushi, that I taught you better than to let yourself be caught unawares while in a vulnerable and compromising position-“

“Dad!”

“After all, one of the things I pride myself in instilling upon my students is constant vigilance-“

_“Dad!”_

There’s a chuckle from the other end of the line and Koushi is just about ready to melt into a giant pool of mortification. This is worse than that time his father had sat him down to give him The Talk, and _that one_ had been particularly bad. There were pamphlets. His father, the judo master who obviously hadn’t known the first thing about gay sex prior to his son’s coming out, had very proudly revealed the number of hours he’d spent acquiring his newfound wisdom. 

From the internet.

It had been a trauma of epic proportions for Koushi and his father, both. 

“I would like to meet this Oikawa Tooru,” he says, when he’s finally done amusing himself embarrassing his own son. 

Koushi pinches his nose. This is sounding strangely familiar. “Dad. You’ve _already_ met Tooru. You’re practically his second father.”

“And seeing as how you both decided to make it so I might even _actually_ become his second father, I would like to meet him.”

“But-“

“This is non-negotiable, Koushi,” the booming voice again. “I’m still displeased with you both for keeping this a secret from me. Bring him home with you.”

And then he hangs up, the unsaid _or else_ hanging in the air, before Koushi could even open his mouth. He stares at his phone in horror, replaying the entire conversation in his mind, getting more and more horrified with every passing replay, and wilts back into his pillows in surrender. 

He stares up at the ceiling morosely.

 _Why is it_ always _me?_

  


* * *

  


A sack of bricks lands a spare few inches away from Tooru’s _head._ Tooru jolts away from it in surprise, sleep abruptly forgotten in favor of self-preservation. He glares at the offending object like it’s-

It’s-

Oh.

It’s just a pillow. 

Tooru groans, flopping back to bed and throwing the covers over his head. “Leave me ‘lone, Kou-chan, ‘m sleepy.”

“Next train leaves in thirty minutes,” is Koushi’s brisk reply, followed by a series of thuds. “We’re going home.”

Tooru just grunts, burrowing deeper into his bed. They can go home at more reasonable time. If they’re taking the train to Sendai, there’s one that leaves every hour, no problem. Tooru stayed up until _three_ last night watching taped match after taped match of Chinese Taipei, who’ll be Japan’s first opponent in their qualifying pool. Tooru wants to start the tournament off with a dominating sweep, and if he has to stay up until three doing research, then that’s exactly what he’s going to do. Trains to Sendai will just have to deal with not being the center of Tooru’s attention.

...Wait.

“What do you mean we’re going home?” Tooru demands, rising to find Koushi furiously packing him clothes. “Why the _fuck_ would I want to go home on one of the last weekends I have free before the tournament?”

Koushi pauses in his examination of one of Tooru’s _The Truth is Out There_ shirts. Shifts uncomfortably. “Don’t freak out.”

Because that statement always sounds so reassuring.

“My dad found out,” Koushi continues, face pinched. “He wants to, uh... He wants to meet you.”

Tooru freaks out.

  


* * *

  


They’re close.

Tooru thinks it’s not too late to pretend that he’s actually on another side of an ocean right now, because the team had to leave even earlier than planned to acclimate to the foreign environment. Or some other official-sounding thing. Or maybe he should have worn shorts and very visibly displayed his knee support, just as a subtle, friendly reminder to Sugawara Kazuma that Tooru is a fragile, fragile creature, who is actually the one being constantly taken advantage of in his and Koushi’s fake relationship. 

_I take back everything I said about me being a top. I’m a bottom. Exclusive bottom. Never once in my life have I ever fantasized about having sex with Koushi any other way, nope, not enjoyable at all._

_Actually, I’ve never once in my life ever_ dreamed _of sex with Koushi, even._

_I am Pure._

_I am Chaste._

_I took a Vow of Abstinence that I honor every single minute of my life._

Maybe they should first go to a temple so Tooru can take a Vow of Abstinence, and have a certificate made and signed by a priestess to show for when he ‘meets Koushi’s father.’ And also pray for his life. 

Or the merciful transition of his soul.

_Please, at least, let me be born again as a human and not a cockroach._

Or an alien.

Aliens are also good.

“ _Calm down,_ crazy,” Koushi says, rolling his eyes. “It’s just my dad. You know my dad.”

_Exactly._

Koushi’s father, the one reason why even now, years after he quit judo and gained an aversion to exercise, Koushi still stands ramrod straight and walks with all the coiled grace of a _predator._ Who is built like a _tank,_ and could probably snap Tooru into two with only one hand. He wouldn’t even have to put much effort into it, just _flex_ a little bit. He probably won’t even blink at having a dead body on his living room floor, just casually call on one of his many connections to clean up the blood that spattered on his scrolls. Who scares even the toughest, oldest police officers in their neighborhood, because they probably have repressed memories of the time they learned how to fight while being crushed beneath Sugawara-sensei’s thumb.

“He _likes_ you, Tooru,” Koushi reminds him, obviously trying to be comforting.

“Kou-chan, you don’t understand,” Tooru cries into his hands. “That was _before_ he started thinking that I’ve corrupted the innocence of his one and only _baby boy-“_

“Ohmygod, please don’t ever say that again.”

“Fuck! I mean, no, _not fuck!_ Your dad is going to _kill_ me!” Tooru wails. “And nobody’s even going to find a single piece of my body to burn, because they’ve all been crushed into tiny pieces and fed slowly to your ravenous, man-eating _koi.”_

“For the last time, Tooru,” Koushi sounds exasperated. “My dad isn’t raising carnivorous fish.”

“Do you know how many times they’ve _bitten me?”_

“It’s not their fault you’re clumsy.”

“And what? Their mouths just happened to get attached? They have gained a taste for _flesh,_ Kou-chan!”

Koushi laughs. Tooru glares at him, because the least he could do is show some sympathy. 

“He probably just wanted me to come home and grabbed the first convenient excuse,” Koushi reasons.

“First-degree murder is a _convenient excuse?”_

“You’ll be fine,” Koushi smiles. “I won’t let him murder you, I promise.”

But there’s something wrong with that smile. Tooru’s panic fades into background noise the moment he notices. Koushi usually has beautiful smiles. He gives them as easily as he breathes - effortless, a natural part of his being. But this one looks... strained in a way that Tooru has never seen before, in a way that’s inscrutable, in a way that makes the rest of Tooru’s complaints die on his lips. In a way that brings back the memory of Micchan, subdued and conflicted, looking at him like he’s committed the highest, most unforgivable crime. 

_Stop hurting him._

But how? How? Was she right, after all? Is Koushi getting hurt because of Tooru? What is Tooru doing wrong? What is Micchan right _about?_

Does Koushi love him?

Does Koushi want to reject him?

What is he thinking and why can Tooru _not see it?_

But when he looks at Koushi again, Koushi only blinks up at him curiously, eyes clear and clueless and completely unaware. 

Tooru tightens his jaw, clenches his fists. 

Why is he letting her get to his head? She doesn’t know anything about Tooru. She doesn’t know anything about his relationship with Koushi. She doesn’t know Koushi the way _Tooru_ knows Koushi. She doesn’t know anything, period. She just likes to run her mouth occasionally so she can feel superior over Tooru because she’s insecure about Tooru and Koushi’s _bond._

Tooru fiercely stomps on the weeds of doubt she’s planted on his mind. Stop it. Stop thinking about her. Stop playing into her mind games. He has more important concerns that he needs to focus on. 

Like meeting Koushi’s father. 

As a suitor. 

As a man worthy of Koushi’s hand. 

Because Tooru _is_ a man worthy of Koushi’s hand. 

Obviously.

He’s got this. He’s totally-

“Hi, Dad!” Koushi sails forward to hug his father who, it looks like, had been _waiting for them_ and _brooding_ in front of his house. 

-going to _die._

Sugawara Kazuma stands at about the same height as Tooru, but he’s much bigger. Much, _much_ bigger. And not in a ‘he’s totally let go of himself in his old age and drinks far too much sake and eats too much junk food’ kind of way, but in a ‘his muscles have muscles have muscles and so on’ kind of way. He doesn’t even have to glare at Tooru beyond his son’s head. His biceps are doing it for him. 

Tooru wonders what his life would have been like, if Koushi inherited more than just his hair and his eyes from his father. 

He greets Koushi warmly, ordering him to increase the frequency of his home visits, and asking him why it looks like Tokyo wasn’t feeding him well enough. Doting father things you’d never expect can come from a man with his kind of build. When he catches sight of Tooru, however, he gives him a cold once-over, and then grunts, unimpressed. Which is _exactly_ the intimidating killer thing you’d expect can come from a man with his kind of build. “So you’ve finally come to darken my door.”

Tooru swallows. Were his palms always this sweaty? How’d he only start noticing it now? Sweaty hands could affect his precision. That’s important information. “H-Hello, Sugawara-san.”

Koushi rolls his eyes again. “Okay, you two, enough with the theatrics.” He turns to his father. “ _Dad._ Tooru’s practically lived in our house for how many years now?” He turns to Tooru. “And it’s been Kazuma-san to you for just about as long.”

“No, Koushi,” Sugawara-san practically growls. “For the man who’s corrupted the innocence of my one and only baby boy-“

“Ohmygod, Dad.”

“-it’s _Sugawara-san.”_

And did the atmosphere become a wee bit more stifling, or is it just Tooru?

“What is going _on_ with you two?” Koushi complains. “Let’s not act more ridiculous than we’re already being about this and have a normal conversation like mature adults, okay?

“Which is exactly why I’ve asked to meet Tarou-kun over here, isn’t it? For a _conversation,”_ Sugawara-san echoes with a deadly smile. 

“Dad, I’m going to pretend you didn’t accidentally call Tooru by the wrong name, just for the sake of my _peace of mind.”_

“Oh, was that his name? I’m becoming really forgetful in my old age,” he turns to shoot Tooru another lethal smile. “Toshio-kun, was it?” 

Something tells Tooru that correcting Sugawara-san while he’s looking at Tooru like he’s severely contemplating the pros and cons of breaking Tooru in half in his front doorstep is _not_ the right course of action. He forces out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “S-sure! You can call me anything you like, S-Sugawara-san.” 

Koushi gapes at him wordlessly. Then, at his father who looks like he’s now decided to drag Tooru down to the deepest levels of the underworld with his bare hands, damn the potential witnesses. Then back at Tooru who’s sweating like he’s _already_ been dragged to said deepest level of the underworld and well on the way to becoming reincarnated as a cockroach. 

Koushi throws his hands up in the air. “You know what? I give up, fine!” He stomps into the house, slamming doors as he goes. “Call me when you’re both finished acting like children!”

Sugawara-san smiles at the closed door fondly. “Who’s going to tell him that trying to lock me out of my own house means that he’s _also_ acting childishly?”

“Kazuma-san, if you’d like to risk awakening the demon, be my guest.”

He chuckles.

Tooru chuckles. 

They stand around chuckling over their shared love for Koushi for a few nonthreatening, nobody-is-getting-killed moments, before they get reminded of exactly what their respective situations were, and Tooru straightens his posture just as Sugawara-san’s chuckle fades into a displeased scowl. 

“It’s Sugawara-san to _you.”_

“R-right,” Tooru gulps, following meekly behind Sugawara-san’s unfairly broad back as he marches inside.

Not much has changed since the last time Tooru’s been to Koushi’s house. Sugawara-san has always been a traditional man, and for his home, that meant sliding shoji doors, low tables, a butsudan, and scroll upon scroll on the walls that Koushi used to meditate to. When Sugawara-san settles on his living room floor, he sits in perfect seiza, the exact posture he’d used when he first taught Tooru how to do it, when Tooru had been observing his classes in the dojo years ago. 

Tooru drops into the same position under his critical gaze, not at all reassured by the reminder of their shared past. 

“So you’ve decided to take a big step forward in your relationship with my son,” Sugawara-san begins, sounding more like he’s reading Tooru’s rap sheet out loud instead of talking about Tooru’s ‘relationship with his son.’ He pushes a magazine across the table, open to an article with a picture of Tooru’s sexy pose, along with countless really non-parent-friendly speculations that make Tooru want to _die._ “A _really big step.”_

“It’s- This-“ Tooru clears his throat. Remembers telling Koushi that nobody ever believes in the stories in tabloids anyway. It’s like he was _asking_ for this. _I apologize to all the gods in the universe, please have mercy on my soul._ “It’s just the tabloids, Sugawara-san! I assure you, nothing they say in here is true!”

“So you _weren’t_ caught canoodling in the showers four times in as many months?”

“No, of course not!”

“And you _won’t_ be caught canoodling in the showers any time in the future?”

“My intentions towards Koushi are _very pure!”_

“And if I told you to leave him alone, would you do it?”

Tooru reels back in shock. 

He feels like he’s been slapped, really hard. He looks up at Sugawara-san, still gazing at him steadily with eyes like two chips of ice. He’d known maybe Sugawara-san would also want to give him the If You Hurt Him speech, only a more intense version of Sawa-chan’s own because he is Koushi’s _actual father._ But that was the extent of his expectations. Sugawara-san had watched him grow up, after all. Sugawara-san had been like his second father. He’d never actually thought Sugawara-san would disapprove.

“It’s not you, Tooru-kun.” 

And wow, he finally gets Tooru’s name right, but only on what sounds like a break-up speech. 

“It’s this media circus surrounding you. If you think I raised my son the way I have just for him to be badmouthed by tabloids for _money...” _He trails off, flipping the magazine close and slamming his fist on the table. “Leave him out of it. I’m asking for Koushi’s own good. Leave him.”__

Tooru stares. His entire body feels numb. He thinks of Micchan, who looks at him the exact same way Sugawara-san is looking at him right now. The way she said _stop hurting him_ like a prayer that’s never going to be answered. The way Sawa-chan’s first words upon hearing about their relationship was not _congratulations_ but _I swear to god, if you fuck this up, Oikawa..._ The way Iwa-chan’s initial reaction upon his hearing his plan is to ask him what he’s gonna do if it doesn’t work out.

Because somehow, no one believes he can make it work.

And maybe they all also think he can just leave now, end this pretend relationship just like that and save everybody the pain. 

They think.

Maybe.

But then Tooru thinks of Koushi, his best friend who agrees to even the stupidest of plans to make Tooru happy. Who cradles Tooru in his arms and gives him a safe space to break away from the rest of the world. Who starts fights he knows he’s going to regret starting for the sake of Tooru’s honor. Who blushes so beautifully whenever Tooru dares to touch him in the intimate way lovers touch. 

Leave Koushi? 

“No,” Tooru declares, spine straightening with renewed strength, meeting Sugawara-san’s gaze without fear. “I love him.”

They don’t understand. Tooru can’t stop. Now that he’s set all this in motion, he can’t stop. There’s no turning back for him, because he can’t handle any other end result. So he’ll just have to keep moving forward, pushing and pushing and pushing, until he makes the day happen when he can look Koushi in the eye and confess and be told that he is loved back. 

“Good.” 

Tooru opens his mouth to argue some more, and falters when the word registers in his head. For what feels like the millionth time in this conversation, Tooru is stunned speechless. Must be a record. Tooru’s never been caught speechless before.

The ice in Sugawara-san melts as he smiles. “Tooru-kun, we humans live very short lives.” He glances at the butsudan wistfully. “Some much shorter than others. We have no time to waste floundering in uncertainties. I apologize for being hard on you, but I wished to see the strength of your resolve. Because if you truly love Koushi the way he deserves to be loved, then you must love him unrepentantly. Be as shameless as you need to be so he knows that he is loved _every day._ He’s worth nothing less than that, don’t you think?”

Is he... It almost sounds like... “But- but what about the media circus?” Tooru stammers. “And not raising Koushi just to be badmouthed for money?”

“If you think Koushi can’t handle himself against mere tabloids, Tooru-kun, you’ve signed yourself up for a far more entertaining relationship than I thought.”

It sounds like... “Then, Kazuma-san, y-you-”

“You’re a good man,” Sugawara-san says, beaming. “What took you so long, hm?”

Tooru laughs in sheer relief. 

It’s... _approval._ “Well, no offense, but Koushi is far more intimidating than even you, Kazuma-san.”

He laughs heartily, glancing at the stairs and taking on that adoring and proud expression he gets when talking about his only son. “Quite true.”

Tooru settles back, smiling down at his lap. No time to waste floundering in uncertainties, huh? He thinks of Koushi again, and the way it felt to fold him into Tooru’s arms, and have his heart beat against Tooru’s chest. The way he leaned into Tooru’s kiss, as if he’s always done it, as if it’s just one of many kisses they have shared. The way his skin felt against Tooru’s lips.

One day, he promises himself. 

No time for doubts. 

_Until it breaks, Tooru._

The doorbell rings. 

Tooru blinks back to earth to find Kazuma-san smiling at him almost sheepishly. “Are you expecting anyone else today, Kazuma-san?”

“I am,” he answers, eyes dancing with the same mischievous glint of Koushi’s own and at Tooru’s questioning look, he elaborates.

“Your family.”

  


* * *

  


“It’s a lie, Mom.”

Koushi leans against the polished side of his mother’s piano, legs stretched out in front of him. This room had been his mother’s favorite when she was still alive. She practiced here, taught her students here, taught _Koushi_ here. Koushi has a thousand memories of sitting in her lap in this room while she played, listening to her humming along with the song she’s creating for him with her fingers.

Koushi and his dad maintained it, even after. Kept it clean, polished her piano, changed the curtains. When he’d been younger, at the times he missed her the most, he’d take the bottle of perfume she’d left behind and spray the room with it so he could lean against the piano like he is now, close his eyes, breathe in her scent and pretend she was still around. 

“I’m lying to Dad again,” he breathes, tilting his head back. “But it’s not like the last time, don’t worry. I know I must have really pissed you off with that one. It’s for Tooru this time.”

He traces notes on the air the way she used to, with long quick fingers, so consumed as she was by her craft that she hears it even in silence. “You remember Tooru, don’t you? He’s grown up to become quite the heartbreaker, like you predicted. I bet you didn’t think he’d be breaking your son’s heart, too.” 

He slashes a line down his treble clef. “It’s not his fault, though,” Koushi sighs, dropping his hand. “It’s not his fault that I’m in love with him. So don’t be mad at him, okay?”

“I’m not mad.”

Koushi’s gaze snaps to the doorway to find his father, smiling at him indulgently. “How long have you been standing there, Dad?”

“Just now,” he makes his way inside and says, again, “I’m not mad.”

Koushi huffs as his father sits beside him on the floor. “You sure did have a strange way of showing it.”

“I’m allowed to intimidate your suitors, Koushi. Stop trying to spoil my fun.”

“Ohmygod.”

His father just smirks at him. “When you get children of your own, you’ll understand.”

“Dad. _Dad,_ Tooru and I,” Koushi flails weakly. “We’re... We’re just... We’re not there yet. Let’s postpone the grandchildren discussion for now, okay?”

“Because I do want grandchildren-“

“Postponed!”

“I mean, I’m not getting any younger-“

“Sorry, we’re closed, try again next week!”

Koushi’s father chuckles. “Regardless, Tooru is a fine young man. Not that you need it, but he has the Dad vote.”

Koushi looks at his father’s pleased face, and satisfied grin and thinks, _why is this happening to me?_

His father approves. 

Of Tooru, his fake boyfriend. Of a fake relationship that’s never going to come true, or last very long, because it’s only for a few weeks, and then they’ll fake break up because they’re better off as friends. Because Tooru doesn’t actually want Koushi as a romantic life partner, just as his _for the moment, please play along_ kind of person because he lied to his fangirls and he needed to save face and there was a text so he hadn’t even meant to say Koushi’s name in the first place. It was all just one big sad accident. Koushi wasn’t even actually Tooru’s first consideration for _fake_ boyfriend. 

And they’ve got his father’s approval.

He wants to laugh.

He wants to cry. 

What kind of decisions has he been making in his life to deserve this kind of irony? “I started a fight for him, you know. You wouldn’t have been happy.”

His father takes this information in pensively. “Koushi, despite everything you think to the contrary, I didn’t teach you to fight so you can grow up just like me.” He leans back into the piano, too, staring at the cream walls, the last color phase his mother had gone through before she died. The hue had been called _powdered skin._ She’d liked it instantly. During his more cheeky moments as a child, his father would say, often and without remorse, that Koushi had clearly inherited her sense of humor and not in the complimentary way.

“I taught you judo because I believed it would help teach you respect, honesty, courage, as well as diligence and discipline. These are things that _I_ have learned from its practice, and that I wished to pass on to you. But even more than that, I wanted you to grow up strong enough to be able to fight for your convictions.”

Koushi gets engulfed in a warm, familiar side hug. His father’s smile is gentle, and proud. “I am happy that you found for yourself someone worth defending.”

Koushi jumps into his father’s comforting arms, squeezes back just as strongly, and shuts his eyes tightly. 

He’s reminded of his last year of junior high, when the pressure of graduation was looming close, because he’d wanted to go to Karasuno so badly but he hadn’t known how to say it. Hadn’t known how to tell his father that _music_ is his life, and so he’d subconsciously started sabotaging his physical performance in school because maybe his father will catch on then, and he wouldn’t have to start the conversation on his own. 

He’d been young and stupid. 

His father had been called, of course, because who fails PhysEd, of all things?

That dinner, he hadn’t been scolded, just told that maybe he should stop being so distracted by music, because it’s not going to earn him any merit as a hobby if he was going to fail out of _junior high._

And somehow, that had been exactly what Koushi needed to find his courage and say, “I don’t play music for _merit.”_

To meet his father’s eyes defiantly and tell him that “Music is my life, Dad,” and “I want to go to Karasuno,” and “I’m going to be a musician.”

And his father had smiled, and brought out an application form for the very same Karasuno School of Music that Koushi had been mooning over for the past few months, already with his signature at the bottom. He’d laughed at Koushi’s astonished face, said, “You think I don’t know my own son?”

The only thing Koushi could say then was, “B-but judo-“

“Has taught you well.” Then he’d been given the exact same hug that Koushi is being given now. “I see it’s molded you to become the kind of man who would fight for his passions. I couldn’t be more proud.”

Except it’s different now. 

He doesn’t have anything for his father to be proud of, after all.

Still, Koushi takes as much of the comfort of his love as he can get, buries his face in his father’s chest like he did then, not because he’s done something to deserve it, but because he can’t stand to face the weight of his own lies.

  


* * *

  


“Welcome to the family, Kou-chan!”

Koushi staggers as he accepts the full weight of an overly enthusiastic Oikawa Tomoyo. 

“Call me nee-san, darling boy,” she gushes, starry-eyed. “Oh, I always knew this day would come. Much earlier, though, but I can’t really fault my idiot brother for not living up to expectations.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Tooru calls testily.

“You see?” she waves her hand lazily in Tooru’s general direction. “An idiot. Did you fully understand what kind of life you’ll be living when you accepted him?”

“It’s okay, senpai,” Koushi assures her. “I’ve always known I was going to be the brains in this relationship-“

“Don’t encourage her, Kou-chan!”

“It’s nee-san, darling,” she trills happily, clutching both of Koushi’s hands in her own. Her grip is still as strong as ever. “Thus far, you’re the only good thing that came out of having _Tooru_ as a brother, so I’m going to enjoy you thoroughly!”

“Am I the only one who thinks that’s not necessarily PG-13?”

“Not only an idiot, but a pervert, too,” she flicks a hand in Tooru’s direction again. “But who can blame him, hm? You’ve got quite the _appeal,_ Kou-chan!” 

“Nee-san, your _son_ is PG-13!” Tooru cries, covering his nephew’s ears in alarm.

“Oi!” Takeru protests, batting at his uncle’s hands. “Stop it! I’m not a kid anymore, Tooru!”

“Tomoyo-kun, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make such insinuations about my son,” Koushi’s father says dryly.

Tooru’s sister dismisses that airily, too. “But you should be proud, sensei! After all, Kou-chan grew up so desirably!”

“Nee-san, please,” Tooru’s face looks like he’s been sucking on sour grapes for days. “You were married before he even reached junior high. Do you know what those kind of thoughts about a man Kou-chan’s age from a woman your age are called?”

“Ah!” She taps a finger to her mouth. “Sugar mommy?”

“Mom!”

“Tomoyo!”

_“Illegal!”_

Koushi laughs at the outbursts from three separate Oikawas lounging in the living room. 

It’s been a while since he’s last seen Tooru’s sister. She’s the still the firecracker she’d been when he first met her. He was five. She’d come to the dojo asking to be taken on as a student by Koushi’s father. He’d refused her, at first, but she was persistent and persuasive and wanted to be trained by the best, and the best was Sugawara-sensei. She came back to ask him to reconsider every day. His dad gave in eventually, but only at the urging of his mom, who’d taken a liking to what she called Oikawa-chan’s spunk. 

Under his father’s tutelage, her name had very quickly risen to legend. When she’d married, many years later, her husband had even taken her family name. That’s the kind of reputation she holds. She now teaches at the dojo she’d begged to be a part of before, and was just about as fearsome to her students as her old teacher. 

Koushi had met Tooru then, when he’d been forced to come with her because no one else could babysit. Koushi hadn’t known how to approach him at first, because Tooru had always been cranky about having to go to a dojo and _rei_ and sit in seiza for long periods of time while watching a sport he barely even cares for. But then one day, his sister had stumbled during a particular move, and Tooru had laughed quietly to himself at her clumsiness and that laugh had made Koushi brave enough to turn to the only other boy in the dojo his age, and say _I like your laugh._

Tooru had blinked at him in surprise, like he hadn’t known what to do about that particular comment. _But it’s just a laugh._

_Yours is nice._

The next day, Tooru brought a volleyball. He spent the afternoon telling Koushi all about his favorite team and that one day, he was going to be the best setter in the world. Koushi had told him that volleyball sounded cool and in the same breath, started admiring the cartoon alien on his shirt, and the rest is history.

So, really, Koushi has a soft spot for Tooru’s sister, because if it hadn’t been for her, he and Tooru would never have met. 

“I have a husband, okay? I have _some_ boundaries,” she says defensively. “I just want to _look.”_

“Nee-san!”

“I’m sorry about my mom, Kou-chan,” Takeru sighs, looking far too put-upon for someone so young. Koushi shifts his attention away from the two bickering siblings to look at Tooru’s nephew properly, already sporting a Kita-ichi jersey. 

It’s another point of contention between Tooru and his sister, the fact that Takeru seems to be following dutifully in _Tooru’s_ footsteps instead of his own mother’s. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that Tooru took him to volleyball clinics every chance he got when he’d only been supposed to babysit, against Koushi’s very justified protests of what a terrible idea it was, and despite his repeated warnings that if she ever found out and raised hell, not even he could keep Tooru safe from the force of nature that is Empress Tomoyo.

“Are you really dating Tooru?”

“Is it really that unbelievable?” Koushi asks him lightly.

Takeru kicks his feet, mulling over the question. “Well, no. But are you sure?”

“Am I sure?”

“He’s really lame, you know?” Takeru informs him seriously. “So if it’s the Oikawa genes you really want, I only have five years to go ‘til I graduate high school. 

“Wait for me.”

Koushi blinks. For a moment there, he could almost see the ghost of Tooru’s junior high self, all gangly limbs and singleminded determination, facing down each challenge without so much as a spark of doubt in his eyes. Koushi really can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he reaches up to ruffle Takeru’s hair. It seems as if all Oikawas were born to be heartbreakers. “Oh, Take-chan is already such a man! Where did the years go?”

Takeru clutches at his hand. “It’s just five years! I promise, I’m much cooler than Tooru!”

“Takeru!” Tooru cries, disentangling himself from his sister’s chokehold. “Stop trying to put some moves on! The only Oikawa allowed to date Kou-chan is _me.”_

 _If only,_ Koushi thinks as he deftly extricates himself from where _three_ Oikawas are now basically wrestling on the floor for his hand. He finds himself settling beside the Oikawa matriarch, observing her family’s antics with a smile. 

A _what am I going to do with these idiots_ smile. 

The best kind of smile. 

“They’re so lively, aren’t they?” she asks Koushi. 

Koushi glances back at the scene he left behind. His father is now watching over the three of them seriously like he’s supervising a match, Tooru’s sister demanding for her son to _hold him down, Takeru, like I showed you!_ Tooru looks like he’s just about a chokehold away from biting off fingers, screaming, _not today, Satan!_

In English.

Lively is... a word. “I guess it really has been a while.”

“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” she dismisses soothingly. “I understand how busy it can get. Besides, your father has given you both enough grief, I think.”

Koushi ducks his head ruefully. “We really did mean to tell you before you found out like this, Ayana-san,” he says, the lie coming easier now, at about the same time the voice in his mind branding him a horrible person gets harder to ignore. Koushi’s fists shake in his lap.

Tooru’s mother notices, just as perceptive as her children, and she sets a soothing hand over Koushi’s own, cool and gentle. “I know.”

Her touch makes Koushi feel like a child in the best way, in the way that only a mother’s touch can make you feel. Koushi’s crippling internal conflicts fade a bit beneath it, at least enough to take away the tension in his muscles so his body could relax. “Did you mind very much? When you found out me and Tooru were dating?”

“Honestly, I thought it was about time,” she replies almost immediately, like she didn’t even have to think about it. “Tooru has had many relationships over the years and I let him handle them as he wished because I wasn’t going to get in the way of something that made him happy. But-“ She laughs. “It might just be a sentimental old lady talking, but I’ve always thought that Tooru was the happiest whenever he was with you. So, really, if he was to get into a relationship with anyone...”

She turns to face him fully, and rests a hand against his cheek. “Kou-chan, I’m glad it’s you.”

Koushi sucks in a deep breath. It stings all the way down to his lungs. 

Maybe now, she’s right and Koushi is making Tooru the happiest he can be. And it’s a good thing, right? It’s what he wants, right? 

It’s just-

Sometime in the future, maybe even soon, Tooru will find someone else who’ll make him happier than Koushi ever could. 

And it hurts Koushi to know, because he is just that kind of a horrible person.

Still, he forces himself to lean into her touch, to smile, to say, “Thank you, Ayana-san,” even though the words feel like acid in his tongue, because he knows that’s what she expects to hear in response to her blessing. 

It would have been easier, he thinks, if Tooru’s mother had hated him. If his sister hadn’t welcomed him to the family and asked to be called nee-san. If Takeru had thrown a tantrum he was too old to throw. If Koushi’s father had disapproved. Not... this. Not love and acceptance over something that’s never going to be real, never going to go anywhere, never going to become anything. 

_I’m glad it’s you._

_I wish it was me._

It’s not.

Even so, Koushi accepts her hug and laughs with them and teases Tooru and jokes around. Because it’s heartwarming and cozy. Because it’s their family. So he pretends for them, better than he’s ever pretended even for himself, because he loves them and he doesn’t want to break the illusion that’s putting that kind of smile on their faces. He immerses himself fully into the act of Tooru’s friend-turned-lover, lets himself fall deeper and deeper into the hole he’s dug for himself and all the while he wonders when it could all just end.

When he would finally reach rock bottom and be left to break.

Somehow, during the course of the conversation, Tooru ends up by his side again, and slings an arm around his waist comfortably, as if he’s done it all his life. “Okay?”

Koushi just smiles. Gives in to Tooru’s hold and nods minutely.

Because he _is_ okay.

It’s all okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I’m super sorry about the names >.< I kinda just put down the first ones that came to my head because I was lazy. I told myself I would change it to actual nicer, more realistic names later on but I got so used to reading them that I got attached and couldn’t change them when I tried OTL
> 
> \- A butsudan is a family altar that contains memorial tablets of dead ancestors. Apparently, they’re more commonly found in rural Japanese households. But I’m not Japanese, and there’s only so much I can learn from research, so if I have anything wrong, please educate me. I would very much love to learn -bows-
> 
> \- I had to rewatch that episode in S2 with Oikawa’s nephew just to see how he addresses him because I have no chill. 
> 
> \- When Suga called Oikawa’s sister empress, he’s referring to the fact that the women’s All-Japan Championships is dubbed the Empress Cup. I had to make a reason why Oikawa has a sister but also a nephew whose family name is still Oikawa, so this was the reason. I hope it’s okay. Also, he calls her senpai because she was his senior in the dojo. Yes. I’ve gone in way too deep with this backstory, please send help.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define competition


	10. define competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> competition - the person with whom one is competing; rival; enemy 
> 
> In other words: He’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! Discussions of previous relationships (again). I'll be the first to admit that I've been even more self-indulgent than usual this chapter. I just really needed to do something nice for myself, okay, because it's been such a mental struggle for me lately so. I'm not actually sorry, but please do be warned >.<

Tooru tries to go home with his family for the night, but gets refused. 

Tooru then tries to inquire after a guestroom he can sleep in for the night, but also gets refused.

“Do you think I’m so old that I’m ignorant to what being a couple means for your nighttime activities?” Kazuma-san asks him with a raised brow. 

And not that Tooru doesn’t _want_ to have ‘nighttime activities’ with Koushi, it’s just that a) they’re not even anywhere _close_ to the point in their relationship where they _would_ be having ‘nighttime activities’ and b) as if Tooru would ever actually dare to have ‘nighttime activities’ in Koushi’s father’s house while Koushi’s father’s room is literally right next door. 

Unless Tooru wants to be really kinky and try his luck at the game called _how quiet can Koushi be_ or invest in a good, faux leather gag. 

Not that he’s thinking about gags while staring Koushi’s father in the face, of course. Pure and chaste, that’s Tooru. “Right,” he says slowly. “I mean, no! Of course I don’t think you’re old, Kazuma-san! Or ignorant! You’re never not the wisest guy in the room, I’ve always said that.”

“Tooru-kun,” Kazuma-san’s brow rises even more. “I’ve already given this relationship my blessing. You may now stop trying to glorify me unnecessarily.”

Which, admittedly, is a pretty classy way of saying _I know you’re just trying to kiss my ass because you want to get in my son’s pants,_ but that’s Kazuma-san for you. 

It’s definitely leagues better than his sister, at least, who’d drawn him aside and asked him if he needed any help setting up a porn channel. “I know someone who knows someone who knows someone. There’s clap-activated mood lighting and no scripts. Very tasteful.” 

Tooru’s still questioning how it’s possible that he shared the same womb with someone who thinks that clap-activated mood lighting and no scripts make for a very tasteful _porn channel._

Koushi is waiting for him inside his room, standing in front of his bed in his silly shrimp pajamas. He looks just as much at a loss as Tooru feels as they assess the futon-less floor beside Koushi’s bed where Tooru usually slept whenever he spent the night. 

“Your dad-“

“I heard.”

And then there’s this silence. 

Tooru glances at the bed, and then back at the floor. “He does know that you own a single bed, right?”

“I don’t know, Tooru,” Koushi replies icily. “Does my father know that _my _bed in _my_ room, which was bought specifically so _I_ have a place to sleep, was made to fit only _one___ person?”

Tooru squints at the mountain of pillows on top of it. “Well, if all those pillows weren’t taking up prime real estate-“

“No.”

“Koushi, I can’t sleep on the floor without padding. My body is a _temple._ It must be carefully maintained to exacting standards-“

“No.”

“And rest is the most important part of an athlete’s day! It’s the R in RICE! It’s-“

“Tooru, RICE is the first-aid treatment for _soft tissue injuries._ ”

“My pride is a soft tissue, and do you know in exactly how many separate incidences it’s been injured today alone?”

“Ohmygod.”

“No,” Tooru answers his question himself. “No, you do not.”

Koushi blows out a long, aggravated breath and slumps down into his covers. He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales deeply and then blows out another long, aggravated breath. He looks-

Strained.

Again.

Like he’s barely capable of keeping himself together at the seams, just managing to not fall apart. Like he’s dangling from the edge of a cliff and doesn’t want to let go but has no idea how he’s ever going to keep holding on. 

Tooru’s chest twists. 

This was a good day. 

He got _approval,_ which was more than he had been expecting to get, by any estimation. Kazuma-san is happy for them. So is Takeru. And his sister, although she chose to show it in the most annoying of ways. And his mother, who’d told him she knew this was going to happen all along, like it was the sort of thing that could be predicted by a mother’s intuition and old lady’s wisdom.

A good day.

For _Tooru._

Now, Tooru tries to see it the way Koushi would have seen it – all their family’s good spirits and acceptance and _so when are you two going to get married, huh? Take another few hundred years?_

For something that he thinks is a lie.

For something that he doesn’t know is going to be real someday.

_Stop hurting him._

Tooru sinks to his knees in front of Koushi’s tense form, settling a careful hand over taut fingers. He runs a thumb over the whites of Koushi’s knuckles lightly, softly, a touch Koushi can deny if he wants. He looks up at his best friend’s shadowed face, brown eyes practically screaming his stress, and offers a beseeching smile.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing Koushi’s now limp hand between his fingers, feeling the apology down to his core. “I’ll sleep on the floor, okay? Just give up some of your pillows, maybe, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

It’s the least he could do, because all this time, Koushi didn’t have to play along. Koushi could have just denied everything, and told his father the truth from the very start. Instead, he chose to bring Tooru back home, named him boyfriend in front of their family and bore the weight of their subsequent expectations for what he thinks is a fruitless relationship all by himself. 

And he did it with the kind of grace Tooru would never have been capable of, if he was in that kind of situation. 

Tooru would never have been able to handle it if Koushi was the one who asked him to fake a relationship, at all.

But then again, Tooru is also madly in love with him.

It’s just one thing, but somehow it also makes all the difference.

Koushi watches him almost blankly, as he goes about his nightly routine. He can feel Koushi’s eyes on him, a soft drag of phantom fingers raising the hairs on the back of his neck, even after he’s shut off the lights, while he’s trying to make himself as comfortable as possible on the floor without padding. 

The padding, it turns out, also makes all the difference.

He shuts his mouth, though, swallows down all the childish complaints that come to his head, and smothers the temptation to say at least one of them. Sore muscles and an aching back in the morning are nothing, compared to what Koushi had to go through so he can play along with Tooru’s ill-thought out scheme. They can’t even begin to compare.

Besides.

It’s worth it, he tells himself, if it helps take away some of that tension on Koushi’s face. 

He knows for sure it’s his fault, this time. 

He never wants to see it again. 

He shuts his eyes and tries to drift off to sleep. There’s an intense shuffling in the bed above him that’s incredibly distracting, though, and then Koushi sighs out loud once more. 

“Tooru.”

“Hm?”

“Come to bed.”

If Tooru were to tell the story of what happened after Koushi said that, he would say that first, he tried to deny such a scandalous proposition because he’s a gentleman poised at the utmost pinnacle of gentility. But then, after some very persuasive arguments, and _only_ because Koushi seemed to insist upon it so much, he’d settled himself beside his gentleman love with all the virtue and decorum that is required and expected from someone of his station. 

He would also be lying.

Actually, Tooru chokes on his own breath, mind eagerly providing him with a million and one sexy Koushi imaginations because _that’s a come on, right?_ and there’s only one bed and Koushi’s father understands what being a couple means for their nighttime activities. 

He rises from his uncomfortable position on the floor in a daze, only to be met by the stunning vision of-

The Great Wall of China, recreated in cushion form. 

Koushi’s head peeks up from over the top of an honest to god fucking _wall_ of pillows and sheets, biting his lip and pointedly staring at the space beside Tooru’s head. 

“Just-” His hand flies out over the wall to make some vague motions at the sliver of space between the _wall_ and the edge of the bed. “Don’t get out of your side. Okay?”

And then he disappears behind it with all the determined scowling of a young war general getting down to business to defeat the Huns.

Tooru blinks. There’s barely any room, because Koushi’s bed is a single and the pillows have now taken up even more space than they were originally supposed to take up. Tooru won’t fit properly. Tooru probably won’t even fit _at all._

It’s still better than the floor. 

Tooru scrambles into it without a second thought, watching as the top of the wall wobbles dangerously when the bed dips under his weight. It’s awkward and Tooru barely knows where to put all his limbs but it’s soft and he’s lying down on _Koushi’s_ bed.

Koushi, who can’t possibly be comfortable, either. 

Koushi, who had been so tense about it not mere minutes ago and still, gave up all this space so Tooru can also sleep on a bed. 

After everything, despite everything. Koushi never hesitates to _care._

Tooru smiles, sinking into sheets that smell like standard laundry. Koushi hasn’t slept here in so long, Tooru can’t reasonably expect it to still carry his scent, after all. But Tooru can imagine. 

In the days when Koushi used to sleep on it everyday, the nights when he and Tooru talked about everything and nothing, separated by the yawning divide between bed and futon, and yet closer than they’ve ever been to anyone else, it probably smelled like apples.

“Goodnight, Kou-chan.” _I love you._

The bed shifts with movement. “Goodnight, Tooru.”

Tooru closes his eyes, and against all the odds discomfort has stacked against him, immediately falls asleep.

  


* * *

  


Koushi closes his eyes, and doesn’t sleep for nearly the half the night.

  


* * *

  


There’s birds chirping outside the window.

That’s something Tooru doesn’t get everyday in the city, and he can’t say he’s missed it. It’s not exactly an alarm he can snooze. He burrows himself deeper into his pillow, curling himself closer around it petulantly. He was having such a good dream. Why do birds have to ruin everything? So annoying. This is the reason why he doesn’t have pets.

He sniffs. 

Inhales apples.

What do you know, Koushi’s bed still smells a little bit like him after all. 

_It’s nice,_ Tooru thinks, nuzzling sleepily against surprisingly ticklish threads. He should probably tell Koushi that some of his pillowcases needed replacing. Even if he doesn’t sleep at home as often as he used to, he would probably still care that his linen was getting tattered enough that threads are coming undone at the edges. _Tooru_ certainly would.

But later. 

Sleep now.

Tooru is on the verge of slipping back to slumber when his pillow shifts and... _wiggles_ against his... general pelvic region and- 

_Oh fuck no._

He doesn’t even want to open his eyes. If he can’t see it, it’s not true. 

Which is sound logic, if he forgets about the fact that not seeing it will also not make it go away. 

He peeks. 

With one eye. 

It’s true. 

Why? 

_Why?_

_Whywhywhy?_

What did Tooru ever do in his past life to deserve this kind of karma? No, really, he wants to know so he doesn’t do it in this one so he’ll never have to live this life ever again. It’s just so wonderfully _filled_ with backhanded blessings. Do the gods think it’s enjoyable? Do they think he’ll like it and be thankful?

As if he could ever be thankful about waking up nearly squished together with the object of his affections, amorous and otherwise, while they’re not even dating yet and he has a _morning problem._

There. He’s acknowledged it. 

Someone please make this be over now.

Koushi moves in his sleep again and then _presses himself even closer_ to Tooru and Tooru’s currently _really big_ morning problem. Tooru almost moans. 

That’s the exact opposite of making it be over!!!

What is wrong with you, universe? How hard is it to understand human language? He thinks he’s made his position on this particular situation _very clear_ and that position is _get away from this position._

Immediately.

Right now. 

Get away. Verb. Meaning: _escape._

Immediately. Adverb. Meaning: _at once, instantly, Right Now._

Tooru can’t exactly _escape instantly_ with his arm trapped under Koushi’s body unless he wants to wake Koushi up while his fucking hard-on is still pressed against Koushi’s – better when real! – ass. When has Tooru ever indicated to anyone that _that_ is his ideal waking situation? When?

...Okay, fine, so maybe he _has_ thought about it, but it was obviously for when he and Koushi were _already dating._ Jeez, take a fucking hint. There was obviously subtext.

Wiggle.

Tooru shuts his eyes and bites down on his tongue. 

Fine. Be like this. So what? Tooru is okay. Tooru is cool. Tooru is strong. Tooru is pure and chaste. Tooru is just going to.

Think unsexy thoughts, and.

Take deep breaths, and.

Not move for possibly the next hundred years. 

And it’s going to work, because it just will. 

Oikawa Tooru is going to get rid of this problem by sheer force of will, or his name is not Oikawa Tooru.

_But look, naked skin!_

Tooru’s gaze immediately falls to where Koushi’s oversized pajamas had ridden up to reveal a smooth, tempting strip of abdomen. And the bend of his side. And the dip of his back. 

Fuck.

When Koushi moves again, because wow, he’s really wiggly in his sleep, the shirt rides up even _higher._

There’s skin for _miles,_ dotted with occasional beauty marks that send Tooru’s mind whirling with daydreams of languid days in bed, perhaps just like this one, spent worshipping them all one by one, making constellations of the stars captured on Koushi’s skin with his _tongue._

Tooru swallows down the whimper that had been threatening to spill from his lips and shakes his head to dislodge all the progressively dirty thoughts currently forming at truly amazing speeds and _nooo, dead kittens, dead kittens, dead kittens._

_Insects splattered on windshields._

_Your parents having sex._

_Ushiwaka-chan._

Tooru has to admit, the last one was working wonderfully before Koushi decides to scoot closer once again and then promptly chooses that exact, inopportune moment to wake up.

There’s a prolonged minute of quiet.

“Tooru.”

Tooru stiffens. _Wrong word, don’t think stiffen!_ “Yes?”

“I might be wrong so. _Please._ Feel free to correct me. But is that-?”

It’s quiet.

“It’s your time to correct me now.”

Quiet.

“I can admit that I’m wrong,” Koushi rambles, rather desperately. “It just happens rarely, but I can be wrong. I’ll be a good sport and everything.”

Tooru clears his throat.

“...I’m not wrong, am I?” Koushi asks, sounding far too accusing for someone so obviously defeated.

“It was spontaneous,” Tooru defends.

“Spontaneous.”

“You know, something that just happens while you’re asleep?” Tooru explains shrilly. “I can’t help it! It’s REM!”

“REM,” Koushi repeats, incredulous.

“It happens to some people, you know this.”

“Some people, including you?”

Tooru narrows his eyes, wondering if Koushi is just being purposefully obtuse. “ _You know,_ it’s not actually because of. Any kind of. S-sexual? A... Arousal? It’s just to exercise the muscles of your-” He coughs. “M-male reproductive system. The blood vessels. Dilate. To provide... increased bloodflow a-and oxygenation.”

“Oh, because your _male reproductive system_ really needed the _exercise!”_ Koushi says, just as shrilly, shaking with what is beginning to look like suppressed laughter. The effect is shockingly similar to another very separate inanimate object that Tooru definitely has no idea about, at least while he’s still existing in Koushi’s father’s house. 

The one that vibrates. 

“It’s not been getting a lot of _attention_ these days, after all!”

“Koushi, stop laughing,” Tooru snaps, aching from being torn between seeking the sensation and pulling away.

“I’m not laughing, _you’re_ laughing.”

“We are _scientists_ here!” Tooru exclaims indignantly. “There is no _malice_ in _science._ ”

“I mean, is it like when you exercise your abs? Useless muscles you only work out to show off? Everyday, fifty abdominal _thrusts?_ ”

Something in his tone snaps at Tooru’s sense of reason, makes him let go of all his precariously held immaculate pretenses, and gives his body free reign to do as it pleases. He lets their legs tangle, coils his arms around Koushi completely and presses every edge and arch and curve of their bodies together until they fit, as easily and sensually as if they’d been waking up like this every single day of Tooru’s life. Koushi gasps, because even as Tooru’s heart pounds the dizzying, intoxicated beat of a man in love, his body blazes with the greedy, white-hot flame of a man just as ravenous. 

“Why are you being so skeptical, huh, Kou-chan?” he purrs lowly, right into Koushi’s ear. “Would you, perhaps, believe me better if I said it happened because of _you?”_

Koushi is silent.

Tooru takes the time to appreciate the delicious spread of pink wings unfurling in Koushi’s cheeks before he, inevitably, tries to squirm away from Tooru’s hold.

“Right,” Koushi manages to say, in a faint, high voice. “Right. No malice in science.” And then he laughs but it’s a really weird kind of laugh because it sounds like a dying hyena choking on a bone. “It’s the blood vessels. Spontaneous. Oxygenation. Nothing to do with-” 

He breaks off abruptly and throws himself out of bed, nimble as a newborn giraffe, waving his arms around in broad, flailing swipes before banging against the wall. Koushi wilts into it weakly, face tomato red. “Right,” he says for the third time. “I’ll... just- Uh-“ he looks up to the ceiling, turning in the door’s general direction. “I’ll leave you... to it.” 

Thus saying, he nods seriously before rushing out like the room was on fire.

Tooru drops his head with a pleased grin. 

So that was a disaster.

But he has a very good visual of Koushi’s flustered blushing face to show for it and it’s so very beautiful. Even more beautiful when Tooru pairs it with the knowledge that said flustered blushing face was caused by _him._

Somehow, Tooru can’t help but feel just a little bit smug about that.

  


* * *

  


Koushi is one hundred and one percent ready to leave the weekend well behind him where it belongs.

No more thinking about it or dwelling on it or acknowledging that it ever existed in general. He’ll just strike it from his mind and put it in his blacklist. He’ll willfully repress his memories. It just... It didn’t happen.

“You okay, Kou?” Yui asks, poking his cheeks and snapping him out of his thoughts.

Koushi releases his violin from the stranglehold he had on it and pats its waist apologetically. “Sorry, darling,” he croons tenderly. 

Yui’s mouth turns down. “You’re looking more worked up than usual,” she observes, deceptively casual. “Is it Miya? You don’t have to talk to him at all if you don’t want to, you know. He can just shove his beloved baton right up his uptight little-“

“Wow, Yui, as if I needed that mental image,” Koushi rolls his eyes. 

Yui grins dangerously.

At least, she seems to be distracted by the rekindling flames of her Miya ire, which is surprisingly far bigger and more all-encompassing than the grudge she holds against Tooru. Probably because she used to like him. A lot. She was all for him for a very long time, in fact, practically the entire duration of their years in conservatory. 

And then Miya got a job offer.

Honestly though, the only thought Koushi has spared Miya after his name came up days ago was to wonder what he’s doing back here, accepting a guest conducting spot in the orchestra he didn’t think was good enough. 

Not even bitterly. Just... in a curious way. 

Whatever his reasons, when Miya Atsumu takes his place at their helm, it’s with all the ease of a much older conductor, exuding charisma and presence as he walks. He comes with little fanfare, but nonetheless brings with him the weight of his reputation and the name he’s made for himself in circles even bigger than Japanese music. 

It’s a big deal, having him conduct for them. 

He doesn’t have to say it, everybody just knows.

He also doesn’t have to explain himself or even lift his gaze from the sheet music as he brings his left hand up and closes it to a deliberate fist. A hush settles quickly over the entire room, people anxious to give him the silence that he’s asking for and to give it as soon as he asks for it. Even the musicians who have had careers far longer than him cow under his piercing gaze, the concertmaster’s already faultless posture squaring up, the air heating with anticipation. 

His habits are as famous and familiar as his name to everyone.

Except the timpani player. 

It’s not really his fault, Terushima-kun is easily excitable and can barely keep himself still, most days. Something clatters to the floor and the sound of it echoes ominously around the vast hall. From all the way in his position with the first violins, Koushi can see Misaki-chan close her eyes and press a hand to cover the tired grimace on her face.

Miya’s reaction is instantaneous.

He draws back the hand that’s holding the baton and throws it straight into Terushima-kun’s direction. He misses, but only just. 

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m about to play music,” Miya growls threateningly. “You noisy _pig._ ”

If Osamu were here, he would have immediately made fun of his twin brother for missing. Say _boo_ or _you suck_ or some other insulting thing that would snap Miya out of his foul mood. At it was, it’s a pretty painful first rehearsal. It’s a _good_ rehearsal, because Miya is a consummate professional who cares about music and supporting his orchestra as best as he can, but painful.

When it’s finally over, Koushi has to punch Asahi to keep him from overthinking his mistakes too much. Kiyoko coolly fixes her glasses, while Yui pouts to Daichi, complaining about cocky bastards who think they’re better than everybody. 

None of them look at Koushi accusingly, or pointedly.

None of them say Koushi could have averted the downward spiral of Miya’s temper just as easily as his twin brother could. He’s certainly done it enough times.

But then again, they probably also knew that was something Koushi only could have done before Miya left Japan.

“I thought I saw you with the rest of my strings.”

Koushi turns around and comes face-to-face with Miya’s smirk. It’s the same as it’s always been, and so is the look in Miya’s eyes as he takes in Koushi’s bristling friends. 

Asahi straightens up from his slouched posture and steps closer to Koushi’s side defensively. Daichi’s face darkens with the evil aura. Kiyoko lifts her chin slowly and for her, that’s about the direct equivalent _danger, swim away!_ Yui clicks her tongue, eyes flashing. 

Koushi would laugh at them for being so protective, if this wasn’t already feeling like a situation that’s ready to explode at the slightest added pressure.

“Yes, and?” Yui demands, folding her arms across her chest and looking like she wishes today was the day she decided to fuck comfort and wear heels. “What’s it got to do with you?”

“Down, girl,” Miya says, smirking, smirking, smirking. He looks almost amused by the reaction he’s getting, like he somehow thrives in this kind of tense atmosphere, this kind of conflict. _He does,_ Koushi’s mind whispers unhelpfully. Or he used to. Koushi isn’t really sure about what atmosphere he thrives in, these days. “I’m just here to talk, you know, like civil human beings do? Instead of barking incessantly like dogs. Do I have to ask Koushi to call you off, or are you not even trained well enough for that?”

“Hey, I don’t care if you’re our conductor and we’re _blessed_ to have you, or whatever it is they’re saying,” Daichi starts, stepping forward. “You can’t talk to her like that.”

Koushi pulls Daichi back with a warning glance. “Daichi, don’t start trouble,” he hisses lowly.

“ _Me?_ Suga, _he’s_ the one-“

“Do I have to remind you of the fire alarm incident?”

Daichi pauses, momentarily stunned at the betrayal. “That was a long time ago.” 

Koushi raises an eyebrow. “So? You still ended up in the vice-principal’s office because you triggered the fire alarm while fighting with the captain of the brass club-“

“In _high school,_ ohmygod, let it _die-_ “

Asahi steps in between them, raising his hands appeasingly. “Guys, I don’t think this is the time for this, exactly?”

Koushi and Daichi turn to glare at him at the same time, and he cowers beneath their gaze, but doesn’t backtrack on his words. Asahi has little moments of bravery like that.

Beyond their little circle, Yui and Miya are still fighting. “I just want to talk to my possible soloist, I don’t need the third degree from his _goddamn murder-“_

“Please,” Yui spits, looking disgusted. “How much more stupid can your excuses get? If Koushi has the solo, he would have known that by now because there are some things that musicians need to do that conductors don’t understand and it’s called _practice.”_

“He would be the soloist, though, wouldn’t he? If I deemed the current one worthless.”

Yui laughs derisively. “Are you for fucking real? You think you can usurp order in the orchestra just like that? Who do you think you _are?”_

“It just makes sense, doesn’t it?” Miya says, shrugging. “For someone so clearly lacking in skill to step down so he can be replaced by someone better-“

“There’s no one better, asshole, he’s the _concertmaster.”_

“A position which Koushi shouldn’t have any trouble getting, if he really wanted it. But that’s a conversation I think I should be having with _him,_ don’t you think?”

“But he doesn’t want to talk to you,” Kiyoko’s clear, frosty voice cuts through the din of their simultaneous arguments, and for a calm second everybody just kind of stares at each other, and then at Kiyoko, standing like a queen, regal and imposing and untouchable all at once. “Maybe we haven’t made that clear enough before. But I think you’re smart enough to have gotten the message now. Koushi doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

“No?” Miya questions, quickly regaining composure. “Not even to catch up with an old... friend?” He rolls the word around his tongue leisurely, smiling to himself like he’s got a secret.

“He has a _boyfriend,”_ Yui emphasizes, the first time she’s ever seemed happy about Koushi’s fake relationship. “And, in case you didn’t get it the first two times, I’m gonna say it again for the brain cells in the back row – _he doesn’t want to talk to you.”_

“In that case, he can tell me himself,” Miya’s eyes slide over to him, flinty and expectant. Still smirking. Koushi hates that his cheeks warm in embarrassment under that gaze, that he can’t hold it for more than a few seconds before needing to look away.

“Or do you not hate it anymore when people talk about you like you’re not there, baby?”

  


* * *

  


“Listen up,” Tooru points imperiously at the magazine he’d pilfered from Kazuma-san’s house. He’s encircled the words _inside source from the team_ in red pen and has drawn helpful little arrows in case someone’s attention wavers and fails to find it. “Which one of you sold me out, you filthy snakes?”

Tetsu-chan does a real life spittake. 

“So it was _you,”_ Tooru accuses, advancing threateningly. “I almost _died_ this weekend because of you, you know!”

“I just realized I got the brand I didn’t like!” Tetsu-chan protests. “Stop putting me on the spot, I’m a _nice_ person!”

“What brand? You’re drinking _water!”_

“With electrolytes! It tastes weird,” Tetsu-chan shoves the bottle into his face, but Tooru couldn’t fucking care less. “It’s also not the brand of sports drink I endorse, and that would be bad for my contract, right, bro?” He nudges Boku-chan, who looks up from his cellphone distractedly.

“Bro,” Boku-chan says, obviously about to launch a completely separate conversation from the one they’re _supposed_ to be having, judging from the way he’s elongating the syllable. “If, hypothetically, one of your friends likes a friend and the second friend that the first friend likes sends the first friend a text with this kind of emoji, after the second friend texts _you’re a good friend,_ what’s that supposed to say to the first friend? Does it mean that the second friend just likes the first friend as a friend? Or maybe is it supposed to signal that the second friend wants to be more than just good friends with the first friend? N-not that I’m invested in the answer or anything! It has nothing to do with me! Or... or Akaashi, even! I’m just asking for a friend. Of a friend. Actually we’re not even very close friends. It’s just a completely random thought that I don’t really care about whatsoever.”

Tooru gapes at him in disbelief at the sheer number of _friends_ that just suddenly appeared in this discussion. 

Tetsu-chan is making that face that he does whenever he can’t decide whether he should smirk or laugh. It’s not very flattering, if anyone would like to know. “Can I see?”

Boku-chan passes the phone over, open to a conversation thread obviously labelled with Aka-chan’s contact name. 

“Bro, that’s a flower!” Tetsu-chan crows. “Definitely more than friends if the second friend is sending the first one virtual flowers!”

“Really! Cool!” Boku-chan brightens, before abruptly trying to arrange his features into something more serious. “I-I mean, yeah, thanks. You’ve really helped my, uh, friend.”

“Oya?” Tetsu-chan’s mouth quirks up in the corners. “I thought he wasn’t your friend.”

“He’s not!” Boku-chan insists. “We’re not close! I’m not in the middle of this situation at all, I’m...” He glances at Oikawa. “Literally in outer space.”

“You guys are _completely_ missing what’s important here!” Tooru bursts out, eyes twitching. He bangs his hand against the magazine in the table for attention. “And it’s the fact that Tetsu-chan has sold me out to a tabloid for _money.”_

“Oikawa,” Tetsu-chan gasps, looking insulted. “Me? Sell you out for money? What kind of disloyal bastard do you take me for? Look at my _face.”_

Tooru looks at his face. Raises his eyebrow, because if Tetsu-chan spent more time looking at himself in the mirror (which he obviously didn’t, because look at that _hair_ ), then he would know that his face makes for exactly the kind of picture Tooru would put beside _disloyal bastard_ in his mental dictionary.

“Perhaps you’ve been mistaken, Oikawa,” Ushiwaka’s voice cuts in their stare-fest. He draws the magazine closer to him, smoothing the crumpled pages over meticulously. “Anyone who is as intimately acquainted with your physical limits as someone belonging to the team would not be making these kind of erroneous assumptions. For one, you’re not nearly flexible enough to accomplish half of these positions.”

And then, he points at not one, not five, but _seven_ separate blurbs with all the gravity of the final set of a championship match.

Time stops.

Did he just-?

Was he implying-?

What?

Has Oikawa Tooru’s lovemaking ability seriously just been put into question by, of all people, _Ushijima fucking Wakatoshi?_

Tetsu-chan and Boku-chan scramble towards him and throw their arms around Tooru just as he gets over his shock and starts trying to bodily launch himself at Ushiwaka-chan aka soon to be dead man. 

“Let me at him!” Tooru punches and kicks at air furiously. “I’ll show him exactly how much I’m over my physical limits! I’mma...” He shoves an unfairly muscular arm away from his mouth. “I’mma _flex_ my _fists_ on his _face,_ and _then_ we’ll see who’s not _flexible!”_

Ushiwaka dispassionately observes him struggle against Tetsu-chan and Boku-chan’s combined hold for a moment, glances at the magazine again, and then adds, “Or strong enough to be able to execute the manhandling they require, for that matter.”

 _“I’ll manhandle you right into the motherfucking_ ground, _you son of a bitch!”_

Which sets off a chain of events quickly devolving into the minor chaos that is the Japanese men’s national volleyball team whenever they are no longer one thinking body on the court, and that often leaves their managers and publicists in _tears_ from all the effort required to hide it to preserve the general public’s (false) perception of the team’s dignity and sophistication. 

Long story short, Tooru ends up in Mizoguchi-san’s office and gets scolded like a child. Tooru also ends up getting the rest of the day off to ‘cool his head’ because he can’t be this foul-tempered so close to the tournament. He spends all the time he takes to gather his things sticking out his tongue and waving the finger in Ushiwaka’s face every chance he gets. And also slicing his hand across his throat threateningly. Which would have been far more satisfying, had Ushiwaka actually _understood_ what it meant and cowered in _fear,_ but he’s the kind of dense idiot that just lets it all fly way over his head. 

So basically, the only thing Tooru’s really accomplished was pissing himself off even more. 

He grumbles to himself, taking out his phone to rant to Koushi about it, but falters at the barrage of messages he’s received while he was busy with training.

All coming from _Michimiya Yui._

**Don’t mistake anything, Boyfriend**

**We’re not friends**

**I still don’t think you know how to act like a decent human being who understands other people’s feelings**

**But now we have a common enemy**

And then there’s a picture. 

The subjects of the photo have their backs turned to the camera, but Tooru can recognize Koushi easy. He’s gripping the elbow of the other man in the photo tightly, dragging him farther away from where Micchan has positioned her phone’s camera. Tooru can just make out the tense line of his shoulders, his other hand curled into a fist as he’s captured in the act of walking away. 

Tooru squints.

The other one looks... oddly familiar. 

Tooru taps on the photo to examine it more closely, tilting his head in concentration, trying to rack his brain for answers. He knows that stance, he _knows_ it, that body type, that undercut, that-

The realization thuds in his chest like a stone. 

**He’s back**

It’s Miya Atsumu.

**Thought you might like to know**

It’s Koushi’s only ex-boyfriend.

  


* * *

  


Koushi doesn’t even try to hold back his strength when he punches him. “You could have maybe _tried_ not to aggravate my friends, you know!”

“Jesus Christ,” Miya yelps, in English, before switching back to moan some more. “Are you using a new violin made of _iron?_ I don’t remember you being this strong.”

“Oh you don’t, do you?” Koushi asks, smirking. “Maybe you just got soft without the constant exposure.”

And then he realizes what he just said, and how easy it was for him to fall back on their once playful, flirty banter like he was that naive, young college boy again who didn’t know any better. He bites his bottom lip, annoyed with himself, as Miya relaxes, casually toeing at the edges of Koushi’s personal space without actually invading it. 

“Maybe I missed the constant exposure.”

When he smiles without all the frills and machinations, when he looks at Koushi like everyone else is cast in darkness and he’s the only one standing in the light, Koushi can almost feel like that young college boy again. Heartbroken and desperate and Miya-

Miya is a household name. 

Koushi’s idolized the twins since their rise to fame all the way back in junior high, long before Atsumu ever decided to become a conductor. It’s not so much their skill that he liked, although they had lots of it, but their spirit - the fire that burned so brightly in their music when they played. There was so much passion in it, so much hunger, and Koushi’s soul responded in kind, his fascination with them as close to love as he could have ever gotten at that point of his life. 

In a funny twist of fate, they end up going to the same conservatory and the twins quickly build up an unsavory reputation because Atsumu has a temper and is frankly extremely terrifying when he’s in the zone. He insults musicians. He’s overwhelming with his demands for utter perfection and when people fall short, he always needs to know why they can’t play together harmoniously, even after he’s given them the right direction, even after they say they have no problems with his arrangements. And he does it harshly, with a vocabulary that seems like it’s been specifically designed to cut at insecurities and fears and half-built confidence. He has an Attitude with a capital A, and worse, he’s the kind of guy who has all the talent to back that Attitude up, so people can’t exactly say anything or do anything, except hate him quietly.

Koushi raises an eyebrow but ultimately just moves on with his life, because he’s long since gotten over his wide-eyed adoration of the two so defending Miya Atsumu’s little Attitude problem is no longer his responsibility. 

Until he walks into a rehearsal room to find the two of them in the middle of the most juvenile argument, because Osamu is blunt and brutal and doesn’t hold a single bad thing back when it comes to giving ‘brotherly advice.’ They call each other names, insults that sound more like they belong in a middle schooler’s playground than with boys on the cusp of being men, things like _stinky_ and _turdy_ and who in the world still says _turdy?_ What kind of an insult is _turdy?_ For all their famed profanity-laden vocabulary, the worst they can do while screaming the roof down and rolling around the floor practically biting each other’s heads off is _turdy?_

Koushi can’t help it, he laughs. 

He tries to smother it with his hands, but it just keeps spilling out, leaking between his fingers like water. Atsumu transfers the entire force of his glare from his brother to Koushi, which only makes him laugh even more. 

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Because obviously, Atsumu isn’t used to being around people who aren’t intimidated by the Death Glare.

“Ah, you see,” Koushi explains, when he’s calmed down some. “I used to idolize you both so much. It’s hilarious, how quickly you managed to shatter what was left of my godlike awe of you with all that fighting you were doing. Never meet your heroes, am I right?”

And that spoke to Atsumu somehow, although to this day, Koushi still doesn’t understand exactly _how._ He started just being around all of a sudden, even though the circles they revolved in had never come together before. He had a swagger. He was so self-assured. He knew what he wanted and at that moment, what he wanted was Koushi. Yui couldn’t stop teasing him, and everyone else followed soon after. 

Except Tooru.

But then again, Tooru was busy with his own relationship. 

Tooru dating Iwaizumi had hurt far more deeply than any of the others ever did, because it erased all the half-hearted excuses Koushi’s been making in Tooru’s behalf, all the stupid reasons he’s made for himself that he’d clung to so desperately. It made Koushi have to face the truth that he kept on trying to not see. 

And the truth had been almost too painful to bear.

Iwaizumi is the first boy Tooru’s ever dated. _Oh,_ Koushi had thought when he found out, heart shriveling inside his chest. _So he can date boys, too._

Iwaizumi is also the first friend Tooru’s ever dated. _Oh,_ Koushi had thought when he found out, the sharp twist of the knife in an already bleeding man. _So he can date his friends, too._

And then there was nothing else left to think.

Tooru had torn down all of Koushi’s flimsy because this and because thats in one fell swoop, when he’d said, _Iwa-chan and I are dating now, Kou-chan! He’s a butt, so he’s very thankful that I’m even giving him the time of day and he fell to his knees and_ cried-

Iwaizumi had hit him over the head, _Stop making up ridiculous stories, Shittykawa._

And Tooru had smiled, _But you loooove me,_ and they looked at each other in that cavity-inducing way people who are dating often do.

_Oh._

Because Koushi is a boy, Koushi is his best friend, and he’s been.

Passed over. 

Just like that.

Maybe there’s something in him that’s rendered him completely undesirable. Maybe it’s that. Because it’s definitely not that Tooru is not interested in boys, or not interested in trying to become something more with his friends. That’s not the problem anymore. Iwaizumi is living proof. Tooru can want boys, after all, can want his friends, after all, can want and want and _want,_ he just couldn’t want-

_Me._

_Oh._

_I see._

Koushi’s rose-tinted glasses are swiped viciously clean, and Koushi sees better than he’s ever had in years.

It gets worse when they break up, because Koushi has to shoulder Tooru through his heartbreak, has to watch him mourn not being able to work it out with Iwaizumi. The man who, unknowingly, throughout the course of their entire relationship, had helped Tooru thoroughly break Koushi’s heart. 

And then, when he gets _over it,_ Tooru declares that he’s not going to be dating friends anymore. He can’t handle the drama. Once is enough, he’s not a masochist who’s going to put himself in the path of more pain and misfortune, thank you very much. 

Right at Koushi’s face.

Because of course, _of course,_ why would Tooru care if his friend Koushi knows?

It’s not like Tooru knew Koushi was in love with him.

It’s not like it would matter to him very much, if he knew. 

Koushi is the one that Tooru doesn’t want.

So Koushi says, _romcoms could have taught you that, Tooru, didn’t you know?_ He almost laughs at the irony of it. Romcoms could have taught him this lesson, too. 

He should have known.

And here’s the thing. 

Koushi isn’t an angel. 

Maybe this time, Koushi’s finally found his limit. Maybe he _can_ get sick of always being looked over, always not wanted, always having to watch, time and time again, as the person he loves falls for people who are aren’t-

_Me._

And maybe he’s allowed to get bitter and greedy and inconsiderate.

Not all the time. 

Just every once in a while.

Just for now.

Atsumu had been standing right there, ready and waiting. Handsome and charismatic and brilliant. But also childish, occasionally selfish, and cocky, and petty. 

And Koushi...

Well.

Koushi very clearly has a type. 

So when Atsumu chased, the Koushi who was not a saint, who was tired, who was near-ready to give anything just to feel wanted for once in his life, really didn’t stand a chance. 

“You can cut the act,” Koushi tells him wearily. “My friends aren’t here for you to provoke anymore.”

“I didn’t say it for your friends,” Miya says, enunciating his words carefully, with the kind of softness in his eyes that really shouldn’t have been there, considering.

Koushi sucks in a sharp breath and changes the subject, “Where’s Osamu?” because he is a fucking coward.

“‘Samu didn’t get invited,” Miya sings gloatingly. “He gave me this really weird speech, too, about how he wasn’t upset, something about passion or whatnot. Honestly, I would have been much happier if he flipped his shit because now even Japan knows I’m better than him, but he’s gained a little bit of self-control over the years. Such a pity.”

“I don’t know,” Koushi says consideringly. “What if it was just a really elaborate plot to kick _you_ out?”

“Oi, what’s with that tone?” Miya demands. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side here because we’re the-“ He stops himself, lips tightening around the word that was no longer true. 

Koushi thinks, this is what people mean, when they say it’s not good to leave a relationship without closure. Not that Miya had been eager for anything like closure when he left, busy as he had been with all the yelling and such. He smiles wryly, punching Miya’s arm again, though with significantly less enthusiasm. 

“What are you doing, Miya?” he asks, softly. 

Miya’s arm twitches, fingers restless against his thigh. They’re long and elegant, a pianist’s fingers, a musician’s hands. He’d brought to life so much good music with those hands, some of them created with Koushi himself. Miya had been a whole other world, so different from Tooru, a world that was filled with song, an apartment bursting with scores, moments that swelled in allegros, nights that passed in syrupy adagios, a steady pulse of the metronome, an easy rhythmn, a symphony, a sonata – beautiful, passionate, doesn’t last forever.

Or so the story went, because even as he’d loved Miya, Koushi had also never stopped loving Tooru.

“Michimiya...” Miya hesitates, looking as if he’s bracing himself for another blow. “She said you were in a relationship? Did I hear that right?”

Koushi closes his eyes. Sighs. “Yes.”

“Is it Oikawa?”

 _Would you, perhaps, believe me better if I said it happened because of_ you?

Koushi flinches. For a moment, he loses control of his emotions, and they bleed all over his face, all of the frustration, the fatigue, the foolishness of these past few weeks. And the pining. Always the pining. It lasts for a second, maybe two, but for Miya, it’s more than enough. 

He snorts. “What are _you_ doing, Koushi?”

Koushi swallows the defensiveness bristling on his tongue. After all, that seems like the only thing he’s been asking himself lately, too. “I...” His shoulders fall. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

There’s a pause. “Me neither.”

Koushi peers up at his face at that, because it would have taken a lot out of prideful Miya Atsumu to admit that he didn’t have all the answers. It makes Koushi mentally step back and look at him, really look at him, and find the awkwardness and the vulnerability lurking in the shadows of his ego, twisted together by an emotion he no longer knows Miya enough to be able to name. 

It’s that emotion that draws him closer, that quiets all the warring arguments in his head, that brings his hand up to cup at the sharp edges of the other’s jaw. “‘Tsumu? Why did you come back?”

At first, he is quiet. He stares out into the corridor behind Koushi for a very long time, wrestling with himself, looking pained. But then something happens that shifts his entire demeanor right back. His swagger returns, the tall bearing of challenge, the smirk. He leans down to meet Koushi’s gaze, eyes bright with wicked glee. 

“I came back to Japan,” he says loudly. “For _you._ ”

And then he leans in to land a kiss on the apple of Koushi’s cheek, intimate and familiar, nuzzling against Koushi’s temple languidly, smile widening like a fox feasting on prey. 

Koushi freezes at his touch.

“Don’t look now,” Miya whispers, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “But another little birdie has just come to join in on the fun.”

Of course Koushi looks.

The complete, unadultered mask of shock on Tooru’s face is priceless. 

It’s in that moment that Koushi realizes that Miya had perhaps been lying, after all.

“Long time no see, Oikawa.”

He knows _exactly_ what he is doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- RICE stands for Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate. Yes, it can be used as first-aid for soft tissue injuries. No, Oikawa's pride is not actually a soft tissue, he's just a drama queen.
> 
> \- No one really knows for sure why some guys get, ahem, morning problems? But what Oikawa says is one of the several theories. (Lol with me at my search history ^^;)
> 
> \- Kuroo didn't sell Oikawa out for money, dw. He's not actually untrustworthy, he just looks it :D
> 
> \- I can explain the AtSuga(? SugAtsu? Vote now!) No, really, it's like this. See, all the Suga ships I know were basically a no-deal since I've already introduced those characters to this world bc I’m an idiot like that. But then my brain had a lightbulb moment. As in, me: _Inarizaki._ So then me: Miya Atsumu. Is a _twin._ Also me: HOLY SHI- I jumped on it because he kinda has somewhat similar character traits to Oikawa? Yes. I know they interacted a grand total of zero times with each other so no one in their right mind would actually ship them (except me). But he worked out well for my purposes here so please indulge me -bows- There’s no other ulterior motive, promise. It’s definitely not because I have a total boner for twins, or anything. What? No way. I had legitimate reasons. See above. But also: I guess you can say that in this fic, Miya Atsumu is Oikawa’s... strongest challenger ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Ha... ha... I’ll see myself out OTL
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define fear


	11. define fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fear - an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is likely to cause pain; trepidation; dread
> 
> In other words: So... Why does it still feel like Tooru is _losing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT EVEN you guys, this chapter is such a mess, please take it away from me, I shouldn't be allowed to have ideas TT^TT But at least, I finally got it all out now so -massive sigh of relief-
> 
> If there are more obvious errors here than usual, I am so sorry, I'll correct them later, I haven't slept in... Ha ha, I basically just told myself to sleep when I'm dead so. If y'all don't mind, I'll go and collapse now. Bury me in satin and lay me down in a bed of roses.

For a moment, Koushi feels as if he’s watching everything happen from somewhere far beyond his body. He sees the spark of rage ignite on Tooru’s face, and Miya’s answering grin, almost as if he’s _daring_ Tooru give him an excuse to prove he’s superior. 

Tooru’s never liked Miya. Even before they broke up, he has never once failed to point out how awful he thought Miya was, and how there were so much better fish in the sea. He’s not going to back down from this, Koushi knows. It’s obvious in the tight way he holds body, in his shaking fists, in the way his shock melts just from the sheer heat of the anger that’s slowly taking over his face.

But for a moment, he’s numb to that realization, while the skin on his cheek tingles from Miya’s lips.

Familiar.

Bittersweet.

Unwanted.

That’s when the adrenaline kicks in.

Another thing Miya’s forgotten without the constant exposure – Koushi has a defective fight-or-flight instinct in that when faced with a situation he feels even the slightest bit threatened in, his default reaction is to talk with his fists. 

Miya stumbles back, dumbfounded. “Did you just slap my _face?”_

Close enough.

“That depends,” Koushi answers, shaking his hand out carelessly. “Did you just slobber all over me without my permission?”

“I kissed you in the _cheek,”_ Miya grumbles, rubbing the sore skin of his jaw. “Do you know, westerners do it as a sign of greeting? On _both cheeks.”_

“You know, Miya, it’s funny how you forgot since this seemed to be a right big shame for you back when you decided to leave,” Koushi says, stomping to where Tooru’s still working himself up to righteous fury. He clutches one of Tooru’s cold hands and starts yanking him back the way he came. Thankfully, there’s still enough shock left in Tooru’s system that he doesn’t put up that much of a resistance. 

“But _I’m Japanese._ ”

He doesn’t stay to hear Miya’s response, if he had one. He’s too busy dragging Tooru away from the potential fight he’s already started in his mind. Koushi has more than enough problems without a catfight between him and Miya being added to the mix, and honestly, Koushi just doesn’t want to deal. He slows only when they get to the foyer, its mellow lighting and high curving ceiling tempering the sharp edges of Koushi’s mood. 

It has the exact opposite effect on Tooru, however, who snatches his hand from Koushi’s hold and immediately tries to bulldoze his way back to where they’ve left Miya behind.

“Tooru, stop!” Koushi cries, reaching for Tooru’s hand again and pulling him back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Tooru whirls around to look at Koushi with blazing eyes. “I’m going back there to kick his ass,” he hisses, tugging at their entwined hands angrily. “You should have let me do while we were still there in the first place!”

“He’s taller and probably has ten pounds on you! Of course I was gonna stop you before you got anywhere!” Koushi tightens his hold, tugging just as strongly.

“Three inches taller! Three inches! And let me just remind you for the millionth time that he waves _a stick_ around for a living, god’s sake!” Tooru says, looking extremely insulted. “A _stick,_ Kou-chan! I’m a nationally ranked service ace _cannon-“_

“Who still thinks that the right way to throw a punch is to put his thumb inside his fist!” Koushi finishes hotly. “Because there’s nothing that says alpha male quite like breaking your own fingers while you’re kicking someone’s ass!”

It’s in the face of this cutting sarcasm that Tooru deflates. Finally. He leans against the wall and runs his hands through his hair, which speaks more to his aggravation than everything else he’d done so far. Tooru has a very meticulous hair ritual. He wouldn’t be absentmindedly ruining all that hard work if he wasn’t incredibly upset. He steals a glance at Koushi, and then puts on the pout to end all pouts that seriously doesn’t have the right to look as cute as it does. 

“I know how to throw a punch,” he mutters beneath his breath.

“Of course you do,” Koushi humors.

“And I _am_ an alpha male,” he adds petulantly.

“Of course you are.”

Tooru regards him suspiciously at that, hackles raised. “Are you patronizing me?”

“I wouldn’t dare try to patronize an alpha male,” Koushi says as seriously as he can, lips twitching.

Tooru’s pout deepens, and he nudges Koushi with his elbow peevishly. _“Kou-chan.”_

Koushi laughs lightly, nudges Tooru right back and it’s almost as if Koushi can forget all the problems and complications that come with being in love with your best friend. He forgets about Miya and why he left and why he’s come back. He forgets about everything else that’s not him and Tooru and the sense of peace that blankets his heart whenever they’re together like this, whenever it’s simple and easy and nothing can touch him because they have each other. 

“So, he’s back in Japan, huh?” 

The feeling fades. 

Koushi shrugs helplessly, opening his mouth and then closing it when he realizes he has nothing to say.

“Did you know?”

“Yui saw his name listed as the guest conductor for this concert last week.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Not that I have to justify myself to you, Tooru,” Koushi says sharply, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But I didn’t think it was that big of a deal and I didn’t want to expend any more effort worrying about it because obviously, Miya hasn’t cared enough to do me the same favor since the day he walked out and decided I wasn’t good enough to be his boyfriend anymore.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tooru responds tightly. “That little _shit._ Who does he think he is to just appear out of the blue like that and act as if nothing’s wrong? After all the things he said to you? What, he just expects to waltz right back in after being gone for years and years, and you’ll forgive him and then magically fall back into his arms-“

“Hey, now, I don’t plan on magically falling into anybody’s arms-”

“-because he’s _such_ a great guy! So _perfect_ for you! The _other half_ of your musical soul!” Tooru bites out spitefully, completely ignoring Koushi’s very relevant contribution to the conversation. “Best conductor of his generation Miya Atsumu who can do no wrong and has the sun shining out of his ass-“

“Well, from someone who was once intimately acquainted with said ass, I can tell you on good authority that _that_ particular rumor is, in fact, not true-”

Tooru wrinkles his nose disgustedly. “Ew, Kou-chan, did I need to know that?”

“You needed to stop talking,” Koushi sighs, massaging his temples. “Look, you can say I told you so, okay? I know you’re itching to say it. But, I promise, I’m not going to come crawling back to him just because he looks at me sideways and is nice to me occasionally. I think have a bit more self-respect than that.”

“Yes, but what if he’s persistent?” Tooru pushes, eyeing him seriously. “He’s won you over with persistence before!”

It wasn’t _persistence,_ but Koushi can afford to let Tooru think what he wants about that. “I’m stubborn.”

“He’ll try to sway you with his charms!”

“Tooru, Miya Atsumu has about as much charm as dirty sewage water.”

“His personality, then!”

“Not much better.”

Tooru takes this in. “You have horrible taste in men, Koushi.”

Koushi laughs, “Tell me about it,” because isn’t that just so unbelievably _funny?_ Yes, Tooru, please _do_ tell him about his tastes. Tell Koushi just how horrible it was that he’s loved two men in his lifetime – his musical soulmate, his clueless best friend – and utterly failed at keeping one and having the other.

Bitterness rises like bile in the back of his throat. 

“What if,” Tooru says slowly, carefully, steadily gazing forward and down the hallway where Miya is yet to emerge. “You just tell him you have a boyfriend?”

Koushi’s brows furrow in confusion at his tone. There’s something about it that’s... strange. Different, somehow. Different in a way that Koushi can’t place, and it scares him, because he’s never not been able to recognize Tooru’s moods before. 

“Tooru-“

“Since we’re already pretending for everyone else anyway,” Tooru clarifies, lifting his chin. “You might as well get something out of this arrangement, too.”

And just like that, the strange tone is gone. Koushi wonders at it, unsure at whether or not he’s imagined it, a Tooru he’s never seen before and doesn’t know how to understand. “Might as well,” he parrots dimly.

“Right?” Tooru shifts closer, still maintaining his almost obsessive observation of the opposite corridor. “I mean, he’s probably the kind of asshole that won’t listen to things he doesn’t want to hear. But-“

It happens in a split second, too fast for Koushi – mind still lost in his inner turmoil – to follow. Suddenly, Tooru is closer than Koushi remembers him being. Suddenly, his face is only inches away, near enough that Koushi can clearly see the sunburst of amber ringing the center of his eyes. Suddenly, he’s crowding Koushi into the wall, fist slamming deafeningly close to Koushi’s ear, fingers tracing lines of fire down Koushi’s jaw. 

Koushi’s mind blanks at the intimacy of it, at how quickly Tooru’s brought them both to the point of closeness where movement isn’t something to be seen but felt, where distance is measured in nothing but the space between breaths, where time trickles like honey – slow and sticky and all the more sultry for its dripping sluggishness. In that moment, everything and nothing could have happened to the world, and Koushi wouldn’t have cared, because the only world that mattered is the one that begins and ends with Tooru’s touch. 

“Tell him anyway.” Tooru’s voice is hoarse, eyes bright with the kind of intensity that reaches right into Koushi’s soul and _pulls_ at the very core of his being. “Tell him over and over. Tell him even when he doesn’t want to hear, tell him even when he’s not listening, _tell him._ Until he gets sick of hearing you don’t love him anymore because now you have _me._ Because you’ve given your heart to _me,_ and _now that I have it-“_

If they were any closer, Tooru would be tracing his words – _beautiful_ words, words Koushi’s only ever heard in dreams – on Koushi’s lips.

“Now that I have it, I’m not letting it go for anyone.” It’s almost insistent, the light in Tooru’s eyes, a plea instead of a demand, and still so singularly fierce that Koushi can feel himself answering, yielding to the appeal he cannot name. “Not for _anyone,_ Koushi, do you understand?”

 _“Tooru.”_ And his name is a _yes_ and a _please_ and a-

_Kiss me._

“Koushi, I-“

“I’m pretty sure there’s a rule in Orchard Hall against public sex.” A drawling voice, somewhere beyond this little space he and Tooru had carved out together. “Tasteful nudity, certainly, but you’re about ten years too early for _that_ particular brand of depravity.”

And who else would it be but Miya? 

His voice is muted though, lost in this whole new universe within the circle of Tooru’s arms where colors sing and sensations bloom like flowers on Koushi’s skin. He has enough sense of mind to grip Tooru’s arms tighter, in warning maybe, but that’s it and even as he does it he forgets precisely why Miya’s presence is the disaster that it was. Tooru is touching him like he’s worth holding and Koushi is hard-pressed to find more important things to be thinking. 

For his part, Tooru’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t fly into a fit of rage or move to change his position at all. Instead, he throws a glance over his shoulder that could almost be called triumphant, and then turns back to touch his lips delicately against Koushi’s cheek. Koushi’s eyes close against the crackle of lightning it sends through his veins, every part of him buzzing and alive and eager for more.

_Not just there._

_Kiss me somewhere else._

_Kiss me everywhere else._

_I want you, Tooru._

“Tell him,” Tooru urges lowly.

And-

_Oh._

Like every flimsy, silly thing in the world, the illusion shatters against just the slightest puff of air.

It’s never even been about Koushi, after all. 

All this time he’d been so shamelessly ready to throw himself down Tooru’s feet if that’s what he wanted, and Tooru wasn’t even thinking of him at all. He was thinking about Miya, instead. The man he hated all throughout college, who he always seemed to be in a competition with over nothing, and who had, not five minutes ago, completely one-upped him in the pissing contest they had that’s apparently overcome continents and years apart. 

Tooru held Koushi that way because Miya was watching. Tooru kissed Koushi on the cheek because Miya kissed that same cheek. Tooru said tell _him,_ tell _him,_ tell _him_ and _obviously,_ him is _Miya_ and that should have, at the very least, clued Koushi in that this little charade was nothing personal, just business. 

Tooru’s intentions had been clear from the start. 

Koushi was the idiot who heard the word _heart,_ and immediately fell for the fantasy.

How embarrassing. 

How pitiful.

How _pathetic._

There’s probably a word for what it feels like when that small, brave ember of hope you’ve kindled to keep you warm for years upon years of despair gets cruelly snuffed out right before your very eyes, but Koushi hasn’t learned it yet.

All he knows, as he turns to Miya under Tooru’s expectant gaze and dully recites, “I’ll have any brand of depravity with Tooru that I like, Miya. He’s my _boyfriend,”_ is that never before have three words strung together – _beautiful_ words, words shaped like wishes on wings that have now taken flight and left him behind – hurt him more to say in his life.

  


* * *

  


The flowers come the next morning.

Dozens of flowers. 

Tooru’s eye twitches just from the number of them, all in elaborate arrangements that feature either satin, ribbons, _pearls_ or any combination of the above, and probably cost more than his apartment in a month. And then some. 

Not to mention the fact that they were _sterling roses._ As in, roses that don’t even occur naturally and need to be purposefully _bred_ to grow lavender. And not even the normal kind of lavender, but the lightest shade – a sterling silver hue. 

As in, needlessly expensive, luxurious and completely pretentious.

“Just rip off all the petals and then freeze them, Kou-chan,” Tooru suggests snidely. “So whenever you’re annoyed, you can just take some iced petal chips from your freezer and break them against the wall.”

“Sounds like a lot of work, if you ask me,” Koushi murmurs, scanning the card that came with this preposterous display.

And maybe Tooru doesn’t want to ask Koushi. Maybe if Tooru had his way, he’d _already_ be chopping off flower buds and throwing them against walls, frozen or not. If Tooru had his way, Koushi’s apartment wouldn’t have to be filled with these flowers at all. And Koushi would certainly not be smiling at them like they mean something, or wouldn’t be reading the stupid message in the stupid card amusedly, biting his lip to keep himself from actively smiling. 

_Stop._

Tooru wants to rip every single trace of Miya’s renewed presence from Koushi’s eyes. He wants to shake Koushi, to scream frustratedly, _didn’t you say you wouldn’t fall for it?_ Because he did say that, just _yesterday_ he was so sure, and yet, here and now, he’s spent the morning admiring the flowers and giggling over a goddamn card – in other words, the textbook case definition of _falling for it._

_Stop it._

_You’re done with him._

_You don’t love him anymore._

_You’re supposed to be looking at_ me.

“I’ll volunteer,” he offers insistently, glaring at the perfect blooms in their perfect stems with their perfect pearls. “I’ll have them gone by the time you get back from rehearsal, no problem.”

“Tooru, you have practice all day today, too, remember?” And he doesn’t even see Koushi when he says it. It’s just Koushi’s voice, filtering through this particularly humongous arrangement that offends every sense of style that Tooru’s ever owned. 

“I’m strangely motivated.”

“What is _up_ with you exactly?” Koushi asks. The flowers rustle gently. “You’ve been in such a mood since yesterday and it’s getting really old, really fast. You don’t like him, I get it, you don’t have to do all these things to prove that.” A hand shoots out from over the mountain of excessiveness to wave at the air dismissively. “Besides, he’s only here for one concert. He’s gonna go right back to America when he’s done.”

Did he _have_ to mention America? “I just don’t want you to do that thing people do with their exes where you sleep together after you’ve already broken up and then you get all tangled up with each other again even though you _know_ you won’t work well together and it gets really messy and then in the end, you’ll come crying back to me and I swear to god, Kou-chan, I’m never letting you live it down! I’ll say _I told you so_ at least once a day, every day for the rest of my life. I _swear to god._ ”

“Oh, because everyone sleeps with their exes,” Koushi retorts, finally emerging from the real life choking hazard he’d been admiring to glare at Tooru severely. “You would know, wouldn’t you? Since you have so many, and all. Please, do enlighten the class.”

“Kou-chan,” Tooru says, feeling Koushi’s words like he’s punched them to his stomach instead. “That’s not fair.”

“Why, are you feeling stingy today?” Koushi demands, placing his hands on his hips. “I suppose I’ll just have to call up Iwaizumi to ask him how it’s done, then, won’t I?”

 _“Koushi.”_ Tooru draws himself up to his full height and beats down the fresh sting of hurt Koushi’s drawn in with his words. “I don’t sleep with my exes.”

Which is the wrong thing to say, Tooru realizes, but only after he says it. Koushi’s eyes narrow, body shaking with barely concealed fury. “Then why are you so sure _I_ would?” he snaps. “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I’m easy? Do you think I’m so desperate for a relationship that I’ll jump into bed with the first person who tells me I’m pretty?”

“Of _course_ not.”

“Then why are you being like this?”

_Because!_

Because Tooru hates it, _hates_ that Miya had to come back now of all times, when he’s finally making his move. He hates that he’s spent years and years trying what he can to get as far as he’s come but all Miya had to do was appear and it’s like he’s back in square one. Because he hates that Miya can give Koushi expensive flowers like nothing, expensive flowers that obviously mean something, just from the way Koushi looks at them. And he hates that he doesn’t know, hates that he’s stuck trying to guess, hates that the person who’s given Koushi the memory that makes him smile like that is _Miya_ and not-

_Me._

Because Tooru hates that Koushi’s been in love with Miya since junior high, when the twins first became famous. He hates that Koushi thought they were the best thing to happen to music since the invention of _music_ and that he wasn’t shy about letting the whole world know. He hates knowing that Koushi would have completely gotten over it, but then he met Miya in college and got sucked into his pull once again. 

And Tooru hated that _so much._

Because Miya understood Koushi in a way Tooru never could. Because _I love you_ was like a hymn to them, to KoushiandAtsumu, who have their heads lost in the center of the same world Tooru’s still scratching the surface of. Because they’re so _good_ for each other, and they look so _beautiful_ together – a musician couple walking down the conservatory hallways hand in hand, breathing music like air, with their elegant musician fingers and their dreamy musician eyes and their sensitive musician souls. Everyone can see, hear, feel just how well they _fit._

Because if Koushi was a star, there was never a time he shone brighter than when he played with Miya by his side, effortlessly filling the silence in his song like it was the purpose for which he’d been born in this life. And it’s the same story even when they’re not performing, even when they’re out of the conservatory and it’s all just casual – Koushi would be carelessly playing a tune in his violin and Miya would jump on the piano and... and _harmonize,_ and the two would meld so flawlessly like an exchange of notes was as good as an exchange of words, like a symphony was a conversation, a dialogue, a language Tooru did not know how to speak. 

Because Tooru is, for all intents and purposes, a _jock,_ who barely knows the difference between a sonata and a lullaby, or Mozart and Chopin, or hell, sometimes even good playing and bad ones, who had chosen his favorite piece of classical music based solely on the fact that it had been named after a _planet._

Watching them together makes Tooru feel like he’s looking up at Ushiwaka again, from the other side of the net, defeated for the millionth time. It’s the 3-0 scorecard (not even _one_ set!), the ball dropping on his court, the best setter plaque but not the gold medal.

Because no matter how grand his gestures, or how long he’s known Koushi, or how much Tooru loves him, Miya will always be ten steps ahead, just for the fact that he had been born with music in his blood. Beside him, Tooru will never measure up, will always be on the outside looking in, will never know the secret password to the club – always inferior, inadequate, _less._

And that wouldn’t stop Tooru from trying, of course it wouldn’t but-

It’s _so unfair._

Tooru loves Koushi _so much._

Miya should be the one who’s nothing next to him.

Instead, they move in together and last long enough to have anniversaries and routines and traditions and one day, Koushi comes to his apartment with the news that Miya’s been offered a position in one of the best orchestras in the world, and he wants Koushi to come with him.

To America.

If Tooru was a better friend, or even just a better person in general, he would have been happy for him. He would have congratulated him or celebrated with him or _Koushi, you can get married in America! Did he propose?_ like Micchan did when _she_ found out.

But Tooru is not a good person. Tooru is, in fact, very selfish and narcissistic and thoughtless so his heart had crawled up his throat – pounding _no,_ that’s half a world away, _no,_ a fourteen-hour time difference, _no,_ you can get married there, did he propose, tell me you said _no, no, no_ – and the first words he managed to finally say had been, “You can’t _leave.”_

_Me._

_You can’t leave_ me. 

Because Tooru is obsessed with himself like that. 

He couldn’t have predicted everything that would happen after. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Because he could have, probably, if he hadn’t been so busy thinking about what it all meant for _him._

Not that it matters, because Koushi forgives just as easily as he smiles, sometimes. He made mistakes, too, he said. It’s okay. He can move on. 

And he _did,_ because he’s resilient and stubborn, with the kind of spirit that takes a hell of a lot more than a stupid boy to break. 

Indomitable. 

Strong.

_That’s my Koushi._

Tooru had been so proud, so awed, and so relieved to see Koushi start lifting his head up high once again that he would have given Koushi anything he wanted. He certainly wasn’t about to begrudge his best friend the peace he made with himself after the disastrous end of his four-year relationship, and he’s not going to start now, it’s just-

Tooru would have never hurt Koushi like that.

Tooru is so much better than Miya, just for that fact alone.

So why is it that even now, after Miya’s proven himself to be the horrible match for Koushi that Tooru had always said he was... 

Why does it still feel like Tooru is _losing?_

“I’m just being a good _friend,”_ he spits. “If that’s somehow become illegal overnight, then fine. Fucking sue me. Do what you want and see if I care.”

“I _will.”_

“Fine,” Tooru says again, with considerably more force. “Just don’t forget what we have going on between us, because I’ll sooner lose the World Championships before I watch you passively let him ruin this, too, the way you let him ruin _you.”_

Koushi’s face shutters at those words, like Tooru had known he would. It happens almost instantly, but not so quickly that he doesn’t see the flash of pain so raw, Koushi’s features almost don’t know how to work themselves around it. It doesn’t belong there, see, because Koushi has a face made for smiling.

Tooru wishes he could say that he regrets it as soon as it happens, that he’s sorry the words ever left his mouth, that he had been too angry to think clearly about how badly they would affect Koushi when he said them. 

But he can’t.

He _meant_ to say it, carefully calculating which words to say when so the blow would hit with the maximum intended effect. For his efforts, Tooru gets a moment where all he hears is that sadistic purr of satisfaction at knowing that maybe he’s been hurt, but he also had the ability to hurt _right back._

But only a moment.

As if that made it any better.

When Koushi smiles at him, it’s all wrong, like he’s just going through the motions of happiness without actually knowing what it means. “Don’t worry, Tooru,” he assures quietly, shouldering his violin case and marching to his door leadenly. “I’m well aware of _exactly_ where we stand with each other.”

What?

_No._

This isn’t what Tooru wanted. He hadn’t been spoiling for a fight, not with Koushi, he wasn’t-

He didn’t-

Tooru opens his mouth to take it back, those words, this day, all of it, but the look on Koushi’s face kills all the excuses before they’re even formed in Tooru’s head. 

“See yourself out,” and then he slams the door close.

Alone in Koushi’s apartment, surrounded by the tokens of his former lover’s affections, Tooru buries his face in his hands and _screams._

  


* * *

  


It’s not Tooru who had been in a mood since yesterday.

It’s Koushi. 

And it’s not actually Tooru that Koushi is mad at, but himself. 

It’s just. Sometimes, when you do something so often, you get tired. And Koushi’s been mad at himself so much lately, he just wanted one moment where he wasn’t the bad guy for once. So then he had all this anger and Tooru was _right there-_

It’s all Koushi’s fault. 

He knows exactly how Tooru gets when he’s provoked. Maybe he’d been counting on it, too, purposefully starting a fight like that so Tooru could give him yet another reason to hate himself. 

Koushi sighs, tracing his fingers along the curves of notes and clefs and rests. He should apologize. He should-

A crumpled piece of paper hits him in the forehead and lands on his lap. Koushi blinks at it, and looks up just in time to see Miya drop his hand and start casually walking past his stand. He’s holding a coffee tray in the other hand, notable if only because it’s carrying two separate to-go cups instead of just one. 

Koushi watches him go by without saying anything. 

A muscle in Miya’s jaw twitches. He backtracks furiously until he’s back to looming over Koushi where he’d been brooding over Sibelius. He clears his throat and lifts his chin, intently gazing off to the side like the quintessential angsty bad boy trope come to life. “Did you happen to receive flowers this morning?” he asks flatly. 

“Why, yes,” Koushi replies, drawling. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“They’re not from me,” Miya barks viciously. “I mean...” He coughs again. “My musicians from... They’re very... Americans, you know... Can’t ever seem to keep their noses out of my business and they thought it would be funny-“

Koushi bends down to his violin case and extracts the card that came with those ugly bouquets, offering it to Miya in favor of an explanation. “I know.”

Miya snatches it from his hand, and Koushi has the pleasure of watching his face sour with annoyance at the large block letters that take up most of the space, _We’re sorry for Atsumu!_ and other smaller comments crammed into it in an array of handwritings, all collectively apologetic and mildly insulting.

“Wasn’t taught manners as a child?” Miya reads aloud, obviously appalled at the very existence of the statement. “Shouldn’t be allowed on his own, he’s a very dense boy? Verbally abusive, emotionally constipated and generally unlikeable? But he’s really sensitive on the inside, so please handle his feelings with care? We’d really appreciate never again having to walk in on him playing _All By Myself_ on repeat while crying over the build-a-bear stuffed toy he made with your face-“

A group of relatively new girls from the woodwind section giggle as they pass and Miya’s face colors indignantly. He promptly settles his coffee tray on the nearest available chair and once his hands were free, he rips the card in half violently. And then rips it again. And again. And again, until it sits in shreds in his hands, which he then crumples and throws to the floor at his feet. Then he stomps on it. Then he points at it menacingly, “That is _not_ true, I did _not_ do that.”

Koushi peers at the pitiful remains of what had been expensive-looking scented paper over the top of his stand. “That was my card.”

“I don’t _do that,_ okay!”

“Why would you destroy someone else’s card?”

“Stop missing the point!” Miya stomps on it again in aggravation. “That _never_ happened, you get me? Never. I don’t even have tear ducts. I got them surgically removed so my eyes are only ever moistened by my rivals’ blood, sweat and tears.”

“That sounds extremely unsanitary.”

“Tell that to the eyes that see the _future.”_

Koushi snorts and bites down on the smile that’s threatening to spill over his lips. “You’re a dork, Miya.”

And, for some reason, this is what quiets Miya and makes him falter, bringing about a kind of silence between them that stretches on for a thick, unbearable minute before Miya sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes and exhales quietly, “I just wanted to make it clear. In case you didn’t know.”

Koushi’s eyes drop back to the safety of his sheet music. “Well, I did, so.”

“Good,” Miya nods jerkily. “Glad that’s settled.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

But he doesn’t leave. So Koushi is stuck staring at his shoes while the orchestra fills all around them and eyes press on his back heavily, an almost novel kind of pressure. He chews on his lip anxiously, wishing Miya would just go already. The last thing he needed was gossip going around the orchestra about how he’s cheating on his fake boyfriend with his ex. That’ll look good in the tabloids. 

Besides, what are they even doing, dancing around each other like this? They’re just people who knew each other once. They haven’t even talked in the last couple of years. They’ve grown away from each other and changed in ways that might surprise each other, and they’re practically strangers now, for all they know of each other.

It shouldn’t have to be this hard, talking to a stranger.

Finally, the aforementioned shoes leave his direct line of sight, but only for a moment, before they’re back again, tapping the floor innocuously.

“Here.” 

It’s the second coffee cup.

Koushi stares. “Um.”

“I didn’t get it for you, so don’t get any ideas,” Miya says gruffly, shaking the cup. “There was a promo. I got it for free. Didn’t know what to do with it, and when I came in, you were just sitting there looking like a kitten someone left out in the rain so I figured I could stand to be charitable.”

“Why would a coffee shop give out free coffee?” 

Miya shifts. “They just opened. I told you, it’s a promotion.”

“A Starbucks?” Koushi asks dubiously, peering at the logo. “Just opened in Shibuya?”

“You don’t know everything that goes on in Shibuya, Koushi.”

“But it’s a Starbucks.”

“Look, just take the coffee,” he says, forcing the cup into Koushi’s hands, which would have been much more effective had he been actually _looking_ at Koushi. “It’s either you or the garbage can.” 

Thus saying, he lets go and stomps back to his place at the head of the orchestra, practically steaming at the ears. 

Beside him, Yui sniffs, having just arrived in time to overhear the tail-end of the conversation. She settles her violin case down and kicks off her heels as she drops into her own chair. “Wow, congratulations, Kou. Always a glorious day when a boy finds you to be better than the garbage can.”

Koushi smiles at her wanly. “Coming from Miya, that’s a glowing recommendation.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re softening up to him already,” Yui leans forward and makes grabby hands at the cup. “Boys like that need to grovel for at least a lifetime, and not a moment less.”

He hands it over while she rants, letting her lecture him about how the lesson needs to be driven home with a really big hammer or else it’s not gonna stick, “And they’re going to stay stupid forever, Kou. You’re doing the world a favor.”

She pauses to eye the packaging critically. “What did he say he got you this for?”

“He didn’t,” Koushi answers dutifully. “It was free and I just happened to be here, I guess.”

“So he’s a terrible liar, too, hm?” Yui concludes, turning it over to show him the note written in marker down the side of the cup.

_I’m rearranging a few things. Look over them with me. You do owe me that much, Koushi._

It’s signed with, Koushi realizes with a start, the beginning notes of Für Elise.

Yui hands the coffee back to him with an unreadable look. “Just one asshole you’re in love with that I can hate freely, Koushi,” she sighs, sounding resigned. “That’s all I ask.”

Because no matter how angry she may be, she can’t deny him that subtle jab. It was true, after all.

Everyone knows the tragedy of Für Elise – arguably Beethoven’s most popular work, written for the woman who didn’t love him.

  


* * *

  


**What are you doing, Boyfriend?**

**Stop being useless**

**I thought we were allies here so start pulling your weight**

**I’m sending you an address**

And there’s an address.

**This is an emergency, okay?**

**Miya just asked Koushi out on a work-date**

**And Koushi went with him**

**Come prepared**

  


* * *

  


Tooru gets dragged down the booth by an ear.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he hisses, glaring at Micchan over his upturned collar. 

“You’re asking me what’s wrong with me after you show up to a stakeout wearing sunglasses, a face mask and a trench coat?” Micchan demands furiously. “Seriously?”

“You said to come prepared!” Tooru says defensively. “I thought that meant wear a disguise! And don’t knock on the face mask, okay, it keeps my face from being easily noticed because in case you forgot, Micchan, I’m _famous.”_

“So – and I’m genuinely invested here – you then came to the conclusion that _suspicious creeper_ is the best disguise to keep yourself from being noticed?” Micchan asks dryly, pinching the bridge of her nose. She turns to Sawa-chan who’s sitting beside her and looking at Tooru like he can’t decide what to feel about him just yet. “Are we in an anime?”

Sawa-chan laughs good-naturedly. “You have to give him points for his commitment, at least.” And then, the strangest thing – he reaches into his pocket and procures a packet full of stickers shaped like stars. He peels off a large golden one and slaps it into the back of Tooru’s hand. 

Tooru gapes at the sticker, mystified. “Did you just-“ He touches the sticker. It feels real, so he knows it’s not just his imagination talking. “Reward my ‘commitment’ with a gold star?”

“Did you want some other color star?” Sawa-chan inquires smoothly. “I gave you the gold because I figured you’d get offended if I gave you anything else.”

And there’s an insult there somewhere, but Tooru’s mind is still fixed on the fact that fucking Sawamura Daichi just slapped a sticker into his hand like a fucking preschool teacher. “Wait, what? Is this normal? You guys don’t see anything wrong with what just happened at all?”

Everyone in the booth just looks at him blankly. 

“No?” Asa-chan ventures from where he’s slouched down low, trying to make himself as small as possible and ironically taking up the most space while he’s doing it.

Koushi has really weird friends. 

The sound of Asa-chan’s voice draws Sawa-chan’s attention to him and he clears his throat pointedly. “Asahi, you’re not going to see anything useful if you’re hiding behind the menu the entire time.”

“I don’t _want_ to see anything!” Asa-chan protests. “I told you guys, we should just respect Suga’s privacy, let him handle his personal stuff however he wants, and then be there for him through whatever happens after.” 

“Asahi, _Asahi,”_ Micchan chides, swiping at the menu across the table. Asa-chan ducks and avoids the grab, pressing it even tighter against his chest. “ _This_ is us being there for Koushi, okay? And see those four booths between us and his little playdate with his asshole ex-boyfriend? You see that? _That_ is us respecting his privacy.”

“I thought it was us securing a safe and obscure location so we’re not so blatant about the fact that we’re following Suga around because if he catches us _stalking_ him-“

“Speaking of which,” Sawa-chan peers surreptitiously over the top of the couch and then drops his head. “If we do get caught, what’s the plan?”

“If we get caught,” Shimizu-chan says, coolly examining her fingernails. “Then it’s every man for himself. Like if you’re getting chased by a wild animal.”

“Fuck you guys,” Tooru points at them irately. “Kou-chan isn’t a wild animal.”

Shimizu-chan shoots him a judgemental look, “That wasn’t the point of the metaphor.”

“Then what’s the point of the metaphor?”

“The point,” Shimizu-chan pronounces, adjusting her glasses so they flash in the light. “Is that you just have to run faster than the other guy.”

Silence descends on the table as they look at each other assessingly. Finally, almost as if they’ve reached a consensus at the exact same time, all their gazes settle on Asa-chan. 

He squeaks, “I’m taller than all you guys!”

“It’s not about who’s taller,” Shimizu-chan reasons steadily. “It’s about who is more ruthless.”

...For some reason or another Tooru can’t quite name, he feels like he’s just developed a healthy dose of respect and fear for Shimizu Kiyoko. 

Asa-chan melts into the tabletop.

Sawa-chan slaps his arms. “Stop being such a wimp and show some nerve!” he scolds. “Suga is practically a junior high schooler next to you.”

“Can we talk about how hypocritical it is that you’re mad at me for being a wimp and telling me not to be afraid of Suga, while your literal plan if Suga found us out is to run away and leave me here to _die?”_

“If you think about it,” Micchan offers comfortingly. “Out of all of us, you’ve got the best chance of surviving an angry Koushi, because you’re the one that’ll be the hardest to lift.”

“Nope,” Tooru corrects her. “I’ve seen him throw bigger people.” He pauses, thinks about it, and adds, “When he was actually in junior high.”

Asa-chan moans pitifully.

“You’ll be fine, Kou-chan won’t throw someone who doesn’t actually have experience,” Tooru assures him, matter-of-fact. “Unless he was really angry, in which case, relax your body, don’t hold your breath and go with the flow. Don’t resist the throw because then it’ll be harder on you and you’re gonna be more likely to get injured. You can also help dissipate the force with your arms and legs if you-“

Tooru trails off, abruptly uncomfortable at being on the receiving end of four sharp-eyed stares. “What?”

They stare at him some more. Sawa-chan shrugs. “It just sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Well, yeah,” Tooru replies, not really seeing the problem. “Kou-chan thought it was funny because he has a questionable sense of humor like that.”

“Huh,” Micchan says, before turning her back on him entirely in favor of spying on Koushi and Miya, where they’re bent over a table full of papers filled with symbols Tooru can’t read, even if he sees it up close. 

Nobody says anything else after that, all of them clamoring to watch the incredibly boring show they’re not supposed to watch all of a sudden.

Tooru’s irritation skyrockets. He turns to Asa-chan, the only one among them who hasn’t actually moved. “What? What did I say?”

When Asa-chan looks at him, it’s not with the eyes of the wimp who had been dissolving into a puddle of tears in the table. Instead, they’re pensive, but in an intense kind of way, like he’s trying to gauge at Tooru’s measure and god help him if he was found to be wanting. 

Asa-chan smiles faintly. “You know, we’ve been asking Suga to teach us basic judo since high school. Or at the very least, give us a demonstration. But even after he’s talked our ears off about safety and spirit and about how there’s a right way to fall, he would never agree to practice with us, even when we begged. There’s a whole lot of trust required between both partners sparring in judo, he said, because you’re literally throwing each other around. And it wasn’t that he didn’t trust _us._ It was just that he didn’t trust _himself.”_

The world stills, all of a sudden, as if this moment was slowing itself down, because it’s recognized before Tooru did, how important it all was. He opens his mouth, but Asa-chan breaks his gaze and goes on without waiting for Tooru’s input. 

“I always thought that was really sad, you know. Because Suga is really good, isn’t he? It’s sad that even after all his hard work and dedication, he’s still being overcome by the dark sometimes, still hesitating, getting scared, doubting himself. But then again, there’s a big difference between being good and knowing for yourself, in your heart of hearts, that you’re good enough. I should know.” Here, he smiles wistfully, lost in memories that Tooru hadn’t been present for. “I found the place where I could feel that way, Oikawa-san. It’s the most amazing feeling. And I guess you can say we were all waiting for Suga to find that place for himself, too. But it seems like all this time, we were just looking in the wrong direction. Because he’s already found it with you.

“So, for what it’s worth,” Asa-chan rubs the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. “If it’s really a fight between you and Miya-san, Oikawa-san, I’m on your side.”

Tooru swallows around the lump in his throat. “Asa-chan, you’re such a good boy!” he cries. “Don’t you worry, I’ll protect you from Kou-chan! I’ll let him throw me around at his leisure so you’ll be completely safe, just watch!”

“Uh.” Asa-chan reddens. “Watch what, exactly?”

“Watch this!” Micchan answers, nudging at Tooru’s legs with the alarmingly pointy end of her heel. Tooru scoots away from it, because he’s not in the business of getting in the way of objects that deserve their own weapon’s license. “Miya’s just transferred seats and now they’re _beside each other._ This is _not good,_ Boyfriend!”

“What?”

Tooru scrambles to turn around, kneeling on the chair and peeking over the top of the booth. Miya is gesturing to a laptop and there’s still a fair bit of distance between them but really, all Miya would have to do to get closer to Koushi now is... slide across the space like the slippery eel he is. 

Koushi is laughing. 

Tooru’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

Is this what’s been happening all day long? All this time? While Tooru was angsting over his phone in the locker room, trying to decide whether apologizing through text was stupid or not? While Koushi ignored all Tooru’s calls because he’s _not available right now, please leave a message?_ Who knows if he even listened to anything Tooru said? Maybe they’re all sitting unheard and ignored in his phone inbox right now. Maybe he’s deleted them without listening. Maybe he doesn’t really care because he’s too busy rediscovering his feelings for his goddamn soulmate. 

Tooru feels as if he’s been running away from a tidal wave all this time, but he’s finally turned a corner that leads to a dead end and all that water comes crashing over his head at once.

“Ohmygod, Koushi is moving closer,” Micchan announces. She glares at Tooru, “Do something!” and _pushes him out of the booth._

Tooru stumbles over the hem of his overly long coat, and rights himself just so he can crash into a waitress making her way to the table next to them, tray practically overflowing with an array of cold drinks. 

She shrieks. 

Tooru shrieks.

The tray falls. 

Glass, it turns out, also makes quite a shriek-like noise when it breaks.

The entire cafe goes quiet. 

And then Micchan’s rueful voice: “Oh, wait, Koushi was just getting up to go to the bathroom. Sorry.”

The incredibly thin thread holding Tooru’s nearly nonexistent patience together _snaps._

He doesn’t even apologize to the teary-eyed waitress staring mournfully at all the broken glass. He rides the wave that had been trying to drown him with the bouyancy he makes with his fury, stalking to the booth where Miya still sat waiting for the best friend that Tooru loves. When Miya glances up at him questioningly, Tooru rips the glasses and mask away from his face because he didn’t want anything hindering Miya from understanding just how truly done Tooru was with his face, his music, his _existence._

He is _done._ “That’s enough,” he growls lowly, slamming a hand down the table, heedless of the sheet music that flutter at the force of it. “Whatever you’re playing at. I’ve tolerated it this long because of Koushi but I’ve had _enough._ You were his boyfriend once, and he loved you once, but not anymore. You no longer have a place in his life, so just do your job and then scurry back home to your precious America because you’re _not wanted here.”_

“I’m not?” Miya smirks, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand almost lazily. “That’s interesting. You know, I’m not holding Koushi hostage in this quaint little hole in the wall you guys call a cafe with its crybaby waitresses and watered down alcohol. I just asked him go out with me. He was the one who said yes. What would you call that, then, Oikawa, if it isn’t... _wanted?”_

Tooru wants to _punch_ him. “I won’t pretend to know what’s going on in Koushi’s mind. But I do know one thing.” He pitches his voice lower, crumpling papers beneath his fist. “After you threw him away, you don’t have the right to mess with his feelings anymore.”

Miya’s face darkens, twists into something unpleasant, brows lowering and eyes narrowing into a glare. It’s the first genuine reaction Tooru’s gotten from him and it makes him feel briefly victorious. 

“I didn’t _throw him away._ I _loved_ him, but he chose to stay. Maybe he didn’t feel like that love was enough to sustain him so far away from the other people he _loves-“_ He spits the word out like it’s venom. “And I said things I regret because I wanted him to feel the pain that I felt.” His face smooths out, the mask falling back in place with the ease of long habit. “I told myself if he was happy here... But he’s not, is he, Oikawa?”

And just like that, Tooru is no longer the predator but the the prey, Miya’s eyes seeing _everything_ – the fight this morning, all of Koushi’s strained smiles Tooru doesn’t know how to fix, Micchan in the amusement park saying _stop hurting him._ His fury dissipates, and his lifevest goes with it, and the water rushes up, up, up, dragging Tooru down its dark embrace. 

He feels like he’s the one who’s been punched. He can’t breathe. “He-“

“It was selfish of me,” Miya says quietly, eyes cold and hard. “To ask him to come, when I was the only one who had a sure place in that world. But it’s different now. You know what an open chair in the violin section means, don’t you? Surely, even you know that much.”

An open chair?

_‘Tsumu’s moving to America. Tooru, he asked me to move with him._

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

“It’s a job opening,” Miya explains anyway. “And the name Atsumu Miya has _so much pull.”_ He fingers the gold star Tooru’s forgotten was even on his hand, looking darkly amused. “Just about as good as you, in your funny little... ball game, if not better.” A smile spreads across his face, slowly. Dangerously. “So you see, I’m not playing at anything at all, Oikawa. I’ve never been more serious in my life. Because I’m going to ask Koushi to come with me again. 

“And this time, I’m going to make sure he chooses _me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Actually, Oikawa is 0.3 inches taller than Miya. I don’t know what happened, except that I could swear it was the other way around (and also lacking a decimal point) when I first researched it and I’m too lazy to change all that dialogue I built around their height difference so. Also, Miya only has like, two pounds on Oikawa, which I would never have guessed from his frame? I was like, huh. Shows what you know.
> 
> \- Bunkamura Orchard Hall is TPO’s partner concert hall, but the complex also has floors for theater, visual arts and film; hence, the tasteful nudity comment. It’s located in Shibuya.
> 
> \- The people who wrote on the card, Miya’s American musicians? They’re Inarizaki, okay, I can’t handle them all actually appearing in this fic because I’m already so desperate with all the characters I have in it currently, but I Needed to tell you guys. That I love them.
> 
> \- Can I just state for the record how blasphemous it feels to make Miya Atsumu insult volleyball? Forgive me, Father, I have Sinned.
> 
> \- Für Elise is Beethoven’s Bagatelle No. 25 in A minor. Für Elise isn’t even the title, it’s just the dedication. The interesting mystery about it is that this piece of music was actually found years after Beethoven died so no one knows who Elise really is. A lot of people think that the person who transcribed Für Elise just read Beethoven’s handwriting wrong (because it’s terrible, lol) and that actually, the dedication should have read for Therese (Malfatti), who Beethoven loved and proposed to but who turned him down to marry someone else... You see what Miya did there? (I’m sorry!! I’m a Nerd OTL)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define sacrifice


	12. define sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sacrifice – an act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy; resignation; surrender 
> 
> In other words: _I’m going to have to start letting you go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi. I know it's been a while. It's completely my fault so I won't make any excuses. To be honest, I didn't want to come back until after I've finished writing the entire story so I won't have to completely ruin my update schedule ever again, but since I was taking so long just writing one chapter, I thought I might as well just update as I go. So I won't be able to stick with every two weeks anymore and I'm really sorry. I hope that's okay -bows-
> 
> But also: thank you so much for being patient with me <3

When Koushi returns, Miya looks thoughtful. 

It’s something to beware of, catching Miya Atsumu looking thoughtful. Koushi observes him carefully as he settles back to his seat in the booth, minding the fresh disarray of the papers on top of the table. 

“You should be discussing these with the concertmaster instead of me, you know that right?” Koushi asks, smoothing out a particularly crumpled corner.

A twitch pulls at the edge of Miya’s mouth. “You’re much prettier to look at, though.”

Koushi tightens his grip on his phone, abruptly reminded of the fight he’d started that he should be trying to fix instead of doing whatever this was he was doing with Miya. If someone asked him, he wouldn’t even be able to tell what it was he wanted out of this. He’s not sure. Is it closure? Perhaps a semblance of friendship? Or...

Is it not even because of Miya at all?

Tooru had called twenty-seven times. 

Koushi had felt every single one. 

And at first it had sent a mixed cocktail of emotions into his blood, because he didn’t want to hear whatever Tooru had to say for himself. 

And he also did. 

But he can’t. 

He should, though. 

It just didn’t have to be right now. 

It’ll be worse if he put it off for later. 

He’ll much better off if he does. 

Did he really want to wait until his relationship with Tooru was straining even more than it already was to make amends for something that was clearly his fault? 

Yes. 

No. 

Maybe. 

Maybe not. 

He’s confused and tired and he doesn’t know what to do. He can barely understand how to _feel._

But that was all at first.

The more Tooru called, the more his phone lit up and buzzed in his hand, his lap, the pocket of his jeans, the more the confusion morphed to something like... relief. 

Tooru was calling.

Tooru hadn’t stopped calling.

Tooru wasn’t giving up so fast, Tooru wanted to fix things, Tooru was thinking about him.

Tooru was thinking about _me._

And it felt _good,_ knowing that he was in possession of Oikawa Tooru’s mind. More than good, it’s _exhilarating._ It’s the first unhindered breath of air Koushi’s ever taken after he’s spent so long learning how to hold it. 

_Kou-chan, call me back._ In the morning, Koushi breathes freely. 

_I know you’re having a break right now, Kou-chan, stop ignoring me._ While he was having lunch, Koushi breathes freely.

 _This is getting really annoying. Answer the phone, you’re not a child._ Immediately right after, Koushi breathes freely some more.

 _Kou-chan,_ please. _I... This isn’t something- Fuck._ Fuck. _Oi, Tetsu-chan! How do you delete a voicemail?_ And then a faint scuffle. _Oya? Did you say something_ embarrassi-

Koushi could have laughed at that one, he is so unbelievably drunk on fresh air.

And right before he left with Miya-

 _Kou-chan. Koushi... I’m not really sure why I’m still leaving all these stupid messages. You’re probably not even listening to them. You’re probably too absorbed with mooning after Miya now._ A short pause. _Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry, I won’t-_ Another pause. _I just want to talk, but if you don’t want to right now... I understand. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll wait for you._

Then, wondrously - _I love you, Koushi._

Then, tragically - _You’re my best friend._

Koushi doesn’t know how Tooru can do it, can fill his lungs with air, and suck it all out the very next moment, and make him love every second of it. 

He listens to the voice mail a few more times. He doesn’t cry. He laughs wetly to himself every time he lets Tooru break him apart, but he doesn’t cry. Then he squares his shoulders and meets up with Miya and smiles. 

He’s a greedy little thing.

So instead of going home to Tooru like he should have, he goes out with Miya and _enjoys_ it, the distinct awareness that Tooru is waiting for him. He can laugh at Miya’s jokes and play with Miya’s music because he knows, at the back of his mind, that Tooru is somewhere, maybe in the gym, maybe in his apartment or Koushi’s, he doesn’t know, but wherever he is right now, at this moment and at every moment until they see each other again, Tooru’s every thought belongs to _Koushi._

_(You’re probably too absorbed with mooning after Miya now.)_

_Be bitter about him some more._

_(I just want to talk.)_

_Ask after my time some more._

_(I’ll wait for you.)_

_I know I’ve got your attention, Tooru._

And of course he’s going to milk that down to last possible second. 

It’s not the _right_ thing to do. It’s not especially fair, either - not to Tooru, whom he’s left hanging, and not to Miya, whom he’s virtually using. Koushi knows that, too. Koushi knows that more than anyone. But so what? 

So _what?_

If savoring something he’s been deprived of, that he’s only now gotten a taste of, all his life makes him a bad person, then fine. Koushi will still happily sin over and over again. 

“You can lay off the stupid compliments,” Koushi huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’ve helped you either way, so you don’t have to lie through your teeth.”

“You sound so doubtful. What’s the matter, hm? Oikawa not giving you enough compliments?”

“Don’t bait me, Miya, I will _leave._ ”

“It’s been a very long while since then,” Miya goes on anyway, turning to him with a cutting gaze, assessing, considering. It suits him well, shows exactly the kind of conductor he is, the one who knows everything there is to know about the musicians of his orchestra, and how best to make use of them – strengths and weaknesses both – to make the instruments sing. “And it seems you’ve been frozen all that time. I would have thought you’d have taken at least a single step forward by now.”

Koushi’s hands shake. “A single step-? There’s nowhere to walk forward to, you _know_ that.”

“You believe that even now?”

“I-“ Koushi’s breath hitches, peering at Miya irately because what does he know? He knows nothing about how Tooru feels and it’s not like he cared very much in the first place. He’s made it very clear how much he didn’t care. “What are you saying?”

Miya doesn’t answer. Instead, he makes as if to trace the side of Koushi’s face, “I forgot how cute you look when you’re angry,” but Koushi recoils from it and Miya’s hand falls to the the gulf separating them both, keeping the company of every single thing that went wrong with their relationship. He doesn’t withdraw it though, doesn’t even look unsettled by Koushi’s rejection, and just thoughtlessly lets his hand settle where it fell, open and inviting. 

“You make it so hard, not falling in love with you.”

It’s a sigh when he says it and it makes Koushi’s heart clench, the way Miya looks at him, the kind of tenderness he’s capable of, and how it softens the angular line of his eyes, the harsh cut of his face, the sharp, bold stroke of his lips. It brings back memories of warm early mornings when this space they had between them now was a tease, and Koushi had often spent his time wondering how long he could go without giving in to the temptation of Miya’s touch. 

He never lasted very long.

Miya had always been more than willing to indulge him. 

But that was a long time ago.

Koushi drops his gaze to his lap so he doesn’t have to see. “ _Miya._ ” But it’s hard to sound chastising when you’re sorry.

“It’s the truth,” Miya releases a long breath. “But really, I should have known better than to expect any different from you. You were so easy to love the first time. Even now that I-” He cuts himself off and then doesn’t talk for long enough that Koushi finally finds the strength to raise his gaze once again.

Miya looks like he’s so far away. “I always said there’s nothing to be gained by clinging to the past. I still believe that. But we-“ He closes his eyes. 

His obvious struggle awakens something in Koushi, a wellspring of _feeling_ bubbling in his chest, a softening that drives him to reach out to the lonely hand Miya’s flung out into the void, in the hopes that it will be enough to fill the years of emptiness they’ve built up to blind themselves from what they used to have together. It’s a hesitant touch, but Miya takes it for what it is, turning his hand over and lacing their fingers together so now they lay, long and loosely tangled - a makeshift, rickety bridge, but a bridge all the same.

Miya takes another fortifying breath. “I just... I just want to help you, Koushi. I wasn’t completely ignorant about you after I left, you know. I’m aware there were some things that wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself so much,” Koushi says, not unkindly. “I have no one to blame for what happened but myself.”

“You’re saying you would have lost your spot in your dream orchestra anyway, without my help?” Miya questions with a wry sort of smile. “I don’t think so. I knew what I was doing when I said all those things to you.”

Once upon a time, Koushi had been very fragile. He supposes he still is, although now, he’s a bit more hardened by time and experience. 

Even so. 

Even so, he questions himself constantly, doesn’t trust his abilities, his hard-earned skills, sometimes stares at his mother’s violin like it’s an alien creature he’s afraid of touching. In moments like that, it feels like he’s playing together with _giants,_ every single one of them looming over him with all their immense potential and crushing talent and he’s _nothing,_ compared to them, he’s a tiny, insignificant afterthought and it’s not enough, what he’s doing, how much he’s working, _he’s_ not enough and he needs to work harder, play stronger, just so he can be heard, just so he can be worthy, just so he can earn a proper place and stand on the same ground with the people he’s dreamed of playing with all his life. And the urgency of it - the utter desperate _need_ \- narrows his vision down, makes him unable to understand the language of music he’d been speaking all his life, makes him unable to hear anything beyond the fluttery panic of his heart, makes his fingers clumsy and slow, makes him hesitate, makes him second guess every instinct he’d painstakingly honed, and the cold, paralyzing wave of _terror_ consumes him whole, devours every single thought but the burning press of despair crawling up his throat - what is he _doing,_ why isn’t he moving, he has to keep playing, has to do _something,_ has to be faster, be stronger, be louder, be _better_ -

And ironically, or perhaps not, that is precisely the point where he fails, every single time.

Once upon a time, Koushi had been so very easy to break and so when he had cut Miya - far deeper than anyone ever has, because Miya had let him in, had been vulnerable to him, had let himself be _weak_ \- Miya knew exactly how to cut him right back.

There was an audition. 

Koushi... hadn’t handled it well. 

Koushi had also thought he’d never be able to play the violin ever again.

Once upon a time.

Not anymore, obviously. 

“Maybe I would have. Maybe I wouldn’t. Either way, it’s done now,” he says firmly. “And maybe it hurt me a lot back then, to have missed out on that chance but... I really don’t think I’d trade where I am now for anything, Miya.”

Miya’s eyes narrow. “Still,” his voice comes out weak, so he clears his throat. “Still, I shouldn’t have- There’s so much I need to make up for. There’s _so much,_ I don’t even know where to _start._ ”

“Not to me. I like to think I picked myself up just fine-“

“So I’ll start with this,” Miya declares, brusquely turning the laptop, now open to an unfamiliar site, with his free hand to face them both. “I cost you one audition. So it only makes sense to give you one back, right?”

Koushi’s eyes widen as he takes in the information displayed on the screen. “This is-“

“I’ve made mistakes that I didn’t own up to,” Miya admits lowly. “And I left self-righteously thinking you deserved every single ugly thing I threw at you just because I didn’t get my way. And... you let me. You shouldn’t have. But then again, when it’s for the people that mattered to you, you’ve always been more inclined to disregard yourself and your feelings.” He tightens his grip on their entwined hands. “Well, it’s my turn now, Koushi. It’s _my turn_ now.”

The feverish, eager-to-please glint in Miya’s eyes can probably also be called cute, like a child showing off his first drawing to his parents, head earnestly tilted just so, anxious to hear that he did good. Koushi feels fondness seeping into his heart almost without him knowing at the sight of it, the Miya Atsumu he’d fallen in love with before. 

He looks just as lovable this time, too. 

He lets his head fall onto the curve of Miya’s shoulder, in the space he’d found for himself there once, smelling the same spicy perfume Koushi had bought him that he’d turned his nose up at but had ended up liking more than he’d ever been willing to admit. He laughs helplessly. 

“ _‘Tsumu,_ ” Koushi breathes, closing his fingers over Miya’s own, squeezing them tightly back. 

Somehow, it feels like an ending, but also a beginning.

“Thank you.”

  


* * *

  


“I’m going to make sure he chooses me, my _ass,_ ” Tooru mutters spitefully, kicking his apartment door even after it’s closed, just for good measure. Really, who did Miya Atsumu _think_ he was? Like he was the clear choice because he was just so good, blameless and holier than thou and he’s never hurt Koushi a day in his life.

Smug, sanctimonious bastard. 

_I told myself if he was happy here-_

And _what,_ just _what_ does he think he knows that Tooru doesn’t? 

What did he even see that told him Koushi _wasn’t_ happy?

...No.

He’s wrong. 

Tooru has no idea what Miya thought he saw in the _one day_ he’s been back, but he’s doubtlessly _wrong._ He doesn’t even know Koushi, not anymore, not as he is now, so how is he in any position to judge anything? Koushi is living his dream and doing exactly what he wants to do for the rest of his life, with really good friends who didn’t even hesitate to stalk him and his date with his ex-boyfriend, claws at the ready, a veritable murder of crows, and who dragged Tooru out of the cafe before he could start a fight that would shoot his reputation to the ground, even though they’re not particularly invested in his career, just because they knew it would upset Koushi.

Who got really quiet when Tooru explained _why_ Sawa-chan had to literally carry him out, kicking and screaming. 

“Oh,” was all Micchan would say, no matter how many ways Tooru found to emphasize the fact that Miya was back to his dastardly ways and had basically given Tooru the real life equivalent of the villain monologue, complete with the Evil Plan, and the Evil Smirk, and the Reasons Why You Suck talking points. 

But even after all of that, none of them would look Tooru in the eye and _say something._ Not Asa-chan or Sawa-chan, who had only exchanged heavy, meaningful glances with each other; not Shimizu-chan, whose face might as well have been carved out of stone - _really_ valuable stone more expensive than Tooru’s life, but stone nonetheless; and not even Micchan, whose entire abrasive vocabulary has suddenly been reduced to a mere _oh._

She had looked so defeated right then and Tooru had never before found it harder to resist the urge to just slap her. 

He doesn’t like it, seeing her look that way, seeing all of Koushi’s friends look that way, as if it was over already, and they can just give Koushi to Miya so readily, because Koushi meant so little to them that they won’t even put up a fight, they’d all let him go _just like that._

It’s so very easy for them and Tooru _hates_ it.

He hadn’t even realized how much he’d counted on them to be on his side for this, at the very least, because even if they didn’t like him very much, they liked Miya even _less._ The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. 

It turns out, it’s not a very good basis for a lasting alliance. Lesson learned.

Because now he hates himself, too, for even considering it, for that feeling of betrayal he got when Shimizu-chan had sighed, because there was nothing they can do, they can feel whatever they want to feel, but Koushi will still have to make the choice that’s best for himself. 

As if she doesn’t know what Koushi is going to choose. 

As if staying isn’t Koushi’s best choice.

As if Miya was right and Koushi is unhappy here.

But-

Koushi _is_ happy. Koushi is _more than_ happy. Koushi couldn’t be any happier here if he _tried._

Right?

Tooru looks around his apartment wildly, gaze darting from one item to the next, settling on Koushi’s jacket mixed in with the rest of Tooru’s laundry he still hasn’t kept properly, his fridge that has some leftover mapo tofu inside, too spicy for Tooru to even look at without tearing up, the sheet music scattered on his table, the scented candle Koushi had thrown to the cart the last time they went shopping because _your apartment smells like your high school volleyball clubroom, and that is_ not _a compliment,_ the phone charger that isn’t there because he’d left it in Koushi’s apartment, and the pictures - so, so many pictures - he’d meticulously mounted on his walls. 

Koushi is in most all of them. 

He is always smiling.

Tooru takes them in, the evidence of their life together, the seamless blend of it, how the space that was his and the space that was Koushi’s melded together so perfectly, because they _were_ the same space, just shared by two people whose lives were so tightly intertwined, it was futile to try to separate one from the other. 

All these things, they answer, _right, Tooru, that’s right, take every piece of every day you and Koushi ever had together and find in it a happiness._

The couch where Koushi often stretched out on after concerts when he should have been celebrating and drinking and networking with his friends - happiness.

The kitchen counter where Koushi had laughed at him the entire time he was watching a three-minute video tutorial on how to crack an egg - happiness.

The stars on the ceiling that Koushi had to sit on Tooru’s shoulders to reach _because I’m taller than you, Kou-chan, it doesn’t matter that you think you’re stronger than me if your legs are too short,_ and the threat that came ever so sweetly with it: _if you drop me and I die, I just want you to know, I’m going to come back for you like_ Shutter, _Tooru_ \- happiness.

And shouldn’t it mean something, that they were so happy?

Shouldn’t it be enough?

Shouldn’t it?

His whole entire being screams back, _yes._

Yes, yes, _yes._

Koushi had chosen their happiness before. 

Koushi will do it again.

Tooru holds that certainty up in front of him like a shield, steadfastly, stubbornly, until every single memory of Miya’s goading voice has been repelled by the sheer force of its invulnerability. He believes so vehemently that by the time Koushi finally comes, Tooru actually finds himself startled by the way Koushi hesitates on the threshold, looking not quite sure of his welcome. 

The events of this day all come hammering down at once, as if to test the integrity of Tooru’s conviction. He tries for a smile, “You came.”

Koushi shifts, eyes darting around the rest of the room. “You said you’ll wait for me.”

“I did,” Tooru affirms.

“And you waited.”

“I did,” Tooru cocks his head to the side questioningly. “Did you not expect me to?”

Koushi smiles wanly. “I guess I’m not really sure if I deserve to be waited for.”

Tooru’s brows furrow as he opens his mouth to retort, “Koushi-“

“No, don’t-“ Koushi protests at the same time and they both break off, unsure of how to proceed until Koushi draws himself up, taking a long inhale before making his way fully inside, needing a moment to steel himself first, like he didn’t use to think nothing of it before, barging into Tooru’s home with absolutely no misgivings, because it belonged to him as much as it did to Tooru. “You don’t have say anything yet, okay? Let me go first.”

When Koushi settles beside him timidly, looking tired and worn out, all Tooru wants more than anything is to take him into his arms and find a way to magically fix everything, so that comfort can be shared freely between them once again, and his touch can sooth all the worries clouding Koushi’s face, and a simple embrace can somehow be enough to keep away the rest of the world. 

But he doesn’t move, so used as he was to the burn of wanting and wanting and never having.

“Here,” Koushi finally says, pressing something into his hand and just as quickly retreating his own back to his lap. 

Tooru blinks at it, turning it over bemusedly, running his thumb down the text etched down the middle. 

“It was Yui’s idea,” Koushi explains haltingly. “You probably won’t believe me, but she really _is_ pretty thoughtful once you get past all the spines. She didn’t want to suggest it at first, because she’s still insisting on hating you for no reason, but I kind of get the feeling that you’ve managed to butter her up somehow, because she didn’t complain about you much, this time.”

He’s rambling. 

It’s something Koushi does when he’s nervous, randomly going off on tangents until there’s no other possible topic to talk about apart from the one he’d been expressedly trying to avoid. Tooru lets him, because it’s endearing, and he can see how much just being able to talk about silly, unimportant things is loosening the rigid line of Koushi’s shoulders, and letting him melt into the couch with some measure of ease. Tooru will let him waste as much time as he wants, for that reason alone.

“It’s just that,” Koushi goes on, absentmindedly picking on the fabric of his pants, still not meeting Tooru’s gaze. “After this morning, I figured I shouldn’t come to you empty-handed and... It’s just the right timing for it, too, isn’t it?” 

At that, Koushi offers him another tentative smile, reaching over to trace at the edges of the _Certain Victory_ charm nestled on Tooru’s palm. 

“It’s _I’m sorry_ and _do your best_ and _I’m sure of your win,_ all at once.” 

Tooru sucks in a sharp breath, closing his fingers weakly over it, feeling as if something is cracking with Koushi’s every caress.

“I really am sorry for acting the way I did, saying the things I said. You didn’t deserve any of it, and... well, it’s not like a lot of the things you said weren’t true.” _Crack._ “I don’t think you’ll lose the World Championships, though, so I gotta hand it to you, that was a pretty good threat. Especially to someone who knows how hard you work. Maybe I don’t say it enough, but I’m really proud of you.” _Crack._ “So when you win against every team out there, and come back a volleyball superstar, remember that, okay? Before everyone else... I was proud of you first.” _Crack._ “Besides, since you won’t be playing at your home court, I thought it would be nice for you to have a little piece of Japan with you. And... a little piece of me, too, I guess.” _Crack._ “Since I can’t be there, I’ll just have this little one cheering you on in my stead, Mr. Nationally-Ranked Cannon, so...”

Koushi meets his gaze at last, grinning openly, with all his unfettered hopes and sincere wishes shining in his eyes. He winks, “Hit a nice serve, Tooru.”

Tooru’s lips part, speechless. 

This is a good thing, he tells himself, a happy thing. 

At least, it _should_ be a happy thing, _should_ assure him, _should_ assuage all the uncertainties and doubts Miya had caused by virtue of his very existence. And yet- 

It’s only when the last of the brittle pieces settle at Tooru’s feet that he recognizes exactly _what_ Koushi had unknowingly destroyed with all his warm words, and good intentions. 

It’s Tooru’s shield.

_Oh._

Koushi is always like this. 

Even after Tooru’s best efforts to bring out all the worst parts of himself, Koushi still finds a way to turn it all around, make it all okay, forgiving him so beautifully for every nasty thing his mind is able to conjure up when he’s lashing out because he’s hurting. And then, as if that’s not enough, throughout the entire time they’re fighting and Tooru is busy being a vessel of anger and hate, Koushi never stops considering his feelings, never stops putting him first, never stops being the strongest support Tooru will ever have in the world. 

Koushi’s heart always cares.

Koushi’s heart is never selfish.

Koushi’s heart is sweet and kind and good.

Beside that kind of purity, what do Tooru’s foolish, possessive wishes look like? 

How ugly he must seem, so shamelessly willing to bind Koushi down and tear him away from a promising, golden future on a gamble of happiness Tooru isn’t even sure he’s _winning._

If it was Koushi in his place, he wonders, would he try to stop Tooru from pursuing his dreams? Would he look at Tooru in the eye, and be able to say _you can’t leave me_ with a straight face, as if he was the most important part of the equation, as if everyone else mattered less, as if the entire world revolved around only his concerns?

And if Tooru was in Koushi’s place...

As if he’d let trivial little distractions like someone else’s abandonment issues stop him from winning his gold medal.

So really, what right does Tooru have to ask something from Koushi that he, himself, is not willing to give? What right does Tooru have to make Koushi choose? What right does he have to tell Koushi to stay when he can’t promise him _anything,_ not Tooru’s full attention during volleyball season, not his full attention off of it, not an _open chair,_ or a good career, or ( _stop hurting him_ ) not even _happiness_ -

_Oh._

Sometimes, Tooru genuinely can’t believe the extent of his own malice. It makes him sick now, all the things he’d thought about, not even an hour ago, moments before Koushi came to him to offer his own selflessness up like a charm Tooru can cup in his hand and call good luck. 

Like this, he doesn’t even deserve to beg for the scraps of Koushi’s love.

“I... I’m sorry, too, Kou-chan. I didn’t mean what I said, I was just-“

Koushi hums, “I know. It’s okay, Tooru,” tilting his head with childlike acceptance, and Tooru tightens his grip on the promise of _Certain Victory_ in the palm of his hand, almost to the point of ruin. 

“Can you stay for the night, do you think?” Tooru asks instead, and at Koushi’s obvious confusion, he hurriedly adds, “We can do anything you want, I just...” he swallows the lump in his throat and waits for the weakness in his voice he knows is there to pass. “I just want to be us again. Without needing to act for everyone else. If that’s okay.” He blinks furiously to keep some things he doesn’t need right now exactly where they are. 

“I miss _us._ ”

Koushi watches him quietly, with a wistful kind of smile that’s just on the verge of melancholy. 

Just for a bit more, Tooru thinks. Just allow him to be selfish for a bit more. Just a little bit more time with his Koushi who was not actually his before-

“Okay.”

_Before I’m going to have to start letting you go._

  


* * *

  


Koushi convinces Tooru to put on one of his recorded volleyball matches. He looked at Koushi weird when he said it, but Koushi had simply shrugged, “You said anything I want, right?” and that was that.

Koushi understands volleyball, but only at the most basic level, just enough to know when to cheer while watching one of Tooru’s games. And even then it’s a little hard to follow, with so many players moving around _everywhere_ and a small ball that somehow gets passed between three people from one side of the court to another, all in the time it takes for him to draw a single breath. It’s overwhelming, to say the least.

It’s easier like this, when Tooru watches a match at a slower speed so he can pick up on little habits he wouldn’t be able to in real time. Koushi watches with him, sometimes. Tooru says his throwaway comments are perceptive, but textbook, which is a horrible thing to say to anyone flat out, but Tooru wouldn’t be Tooru if he minced words and held back for anyone when it came to volleyball.

Still, Tooru would also say, he likes listening to the things that Koushi notices, the things that can be seen by the eyes of someone who isn’t so used to the inner workings of the game, the players, the court. It’s a whole other perspective, different, new.

Refreshing.

And then, for a time, he’d called Koushi Mr. Refreshing if only for the sole purpose of annoying him, a habit Koushi had to train him out of through Pavlovian aversion to pain. When Tooru had looked at him accusingly for it, Koushi had bought up his fist in response and patted at it indulgently. “I love you,” he’d sung to it teasingly.

“Ohmygod, Kou-chan, you are a _brute._ ”

“Excuse you, I’m an _angel._ ” And it was true. After all, a brute with a pretty face still has a pretty face. It’s enough to excuse him many things. 

“If your attitude says anything about what real angels are like, I’d much rather go to hell.”

“Well, it’s good to know you prefer hell that much, Tooru, considering how you’re probably going to end up there eventually.”

And Tooru had squawked indignantly while Koushi laughingly tried fend off his latest insult-induced angry tantrum. 

Koushi could only dream of that ease between them now. 

He’s not being unrealistic. It’s not like he was expecting them to be okay right away, not after their biggest fight in the longest time. Koushi doesn’t even remember the last time he’d provoked Tooru that much, or the last time he’d purposefully delayed making his apologies out of a selfish desire to take up more space in Tooru’s mind for a while, more than the little he’s been allowed to occupy. He’d thought it would take a night, at least, to fully get it out of their systems, so they can go back to being best friends once again but-

But Tooru had asked him to stay.

Tooru had asked, and from then on, he’d regarded Koushi with a flat sort of look, detached and cold, as if he looked at Koushi and saw... nothing. If he looked at Koushi at all. Mostly, his eyes skittered to the side, like he’d rather look _past_ him, like he can’t stand the sight of him and maybe Koushi had read everything wrong and he hadn’t fixed anything between them at all but Tooru had taken his peace offering, however juvenile it now seems to Koushi on hindsight, and he’d asked him to _stay_ so he’d _thought_ \- 

Should he have said _no?_ Should he _leave?_

But would leaving make everything better? Or worse? 

Koushi doesn’t know so he stays, frozen with indecision, even though he knows one thing for sure. Trying at an illusion of friendship right now, when Tooru is looking at him _like that_ is too cruel a taunt for him to bear. 

So watching opponent videos it is. 

At least this way, Koushi can try to convince himself that Tooru’s just focused on his volleyball plays. At least this way, he can think that and actually have a chance of pretending he believes it. 

“That’s a... quick?” he asks to fill the silence.

“Good job,” Tooru shoots him a smile that can almost be called proud, if it weren’t for his empty, empty eyes. “In this case, since the spiker is behind the setter, it’s a C quick.”

“Oh, now there’s two of them at the same time.”

“Double quick.”

“But it’s still the same spiker for both times.”

“Number sixteen,” Tooru leans forward to pause the video and bring up his notes. “He’s a new recruit so they’re probably still trying to figure out how to best use him. He’s a wing spiker, but I think he’s more of the type to go after quicks one after another.”

Koushi takes this in, stealing glances at Tooru from the corner of his eye as he replays the video to study the kill more closely. Sometimes, he could swear he’s just caught Tooru stealing glances of him back, not that that information is of any use to Koushi, when he doesn’t know what to do with it. He settles his chin on his knees and draws his legs closer. He’d never thought he’d see the day when Tooru became more confusing to him than volleyball. “So aim for him when you serve.”

Tooru sits up. “What?”

“I said, aim for him,” Koushi points at number sixteen. “Quicks have to be really fast, right? If he has to receive the ball, then he won’t get enough time to be in position for the set.”

Tooru is silent.

“Or... not? I probably underestimated him, didn’t I?” Koushi almost loses control of his hand then, but thankfully reigns in the urge to give Tooru a chastising punch at the last second. “You know that I know next to nothing about this, Tooru, so it’s your job to stop me before I say dumb stuff-“

Tooru laughs. It’s an exhalation of tension, that laugh, and somehow, even though Koushi is only half sure that Tooru isn’t actually laughing at him, it’s just what he needs to feel like the stifling atmosphere of the room is finally dissipating. 

When Tooru looks at him again, it’s like color has bled back through the grey nothingness of his eyes. 

“So,” Koushi says carefully, not wanting to say anything that could upset Tooru and the progress he’d just made. “Does that mean it’ll work?”

“For a time,” Tooru agrees, still smiling. “It’s easy to figure out and counter, but no one else in the team would have thought about that at all. It’s a Mr. Refreshing original.” 

Koushi gives him a warning side-eye. “Not even Kuroo?”

“Tetsu-chan would probably just say ‘leave him to me’ and then jump for the ball. Something about read blockers always having the last laugh. Not that he understands enough English to be useful,” Tooru gestures at the video again, where the commentators have started discussing the end of the first set. “The last time they let him speak it without supervision, he butchered his ‘we are the blood’ speech, so the reporter thought he was behind some kind of _suspicious illegal activity_ and we ended up on the actual news. And Boku-chan being there... just did _not_ help matters _at all._ They’re no longer allowed to open their mouths or otherwise show any sign of knowing how to communicate in front of international media.”

Koushi bites his lip to keep himself from smiling inappropriately. “Poor them.”

“Poor them? Poor me!” Tooru wails. “I had to be responsible for clearing that mess up. They thought we were drinking owl blood as performance enhancers, Kou-chan!” 

“Owls?”

“I told you Boku-chan was there, did you really expect him to know any other word?”

“Yes, but as performance enhancers?”

“‘The blood keeps the oxygen moving and the mind working,’” Tooru quotes, pinching the bridge of his nose in remembered aggravation. “I’ve never been more mortified in my life. I wish I wasn’t the only person on the team who could speak English fluently.”

“English is not so bad,” Koushi says, shrugging.

“I-“ Tooru falters at that, and he abruptly turns back to his laptop, stopping the video with more force than strictly necessary. 

“So... you won’t mind speaking it?” he questions lowly. “Using it as your primary method of communication every day? For the rest of your life, you’ll only speak your mother tongue sparingly, just phrases here and there, and maybe you’ll forget how to say some things and also get an accent?”

It’s like he knows. 

Koushi’s heart jumps to his throat at the thought, even if he knew there’s no way Tooru _could_ know, not when Koushi’s just found out himself. 

But there was that look on Miya’s eyes, too, before he’d left the cafe and asked Koushi to _do me a favor._

_Don’t keep this a secret. Tell your Oikawa all about it._

“That’s okay with you?”

_See what he says._

He doesn’t know what drives him to say what he says next then, only that he does say it without regard for the consequences, and with far too much at exactly the same time. “Tooru? Just _suppose,_ okay? Suppose you had a really close friend, apart from me,” he gives his best approximation of a smile at that, to try to hide how nervous he feels all of a sudden, how much he wants to project the answer he needs to hear on Tooru lips. “And that really close friend gets an amazing opportunity, but he has to go really far away if he wants to take it. What...” Koushi takes a deep breath. “What would you say to your friend, then? Hypothetically?”

Tooru’s eyes are wide, looking at Koushi like he’s just appeared out of the nothing he thought he was looking at a moment before and he didn’t know what to do with him. He looks so stricken that Koushi actually allows himself a tiny bloom of expectation as he remembers a similar situation years ago, and Tooru’s answer that had taken a similar tiny bloom and made with it whole gardens in Koushi’s heart, a chaotic tumble of flowers, twisted in wreaths, woven in crowns that made him beautiful, all of them flourishing just from the single droplet of sunshine that was the barest hint of a Tooru who saw that Koushi can be someone worth holding on to. 

It wasn’t love, he knew that even then. It was distilled affection at best, because they’ve been friends since they were kids so it was hard to imagine life without the other by their side. It was Tooru being clingy, or his competitive streak rearing its ugly head, or perhaps even just separation anxiety. 

It wasn’t love, he would tell himself, because hoping for more meant he was reaching beyond his means and he’s just happy the flowers were able to blossom in his heart at all.

It wasn’t love.

He didn’t know what it _was,_ because he just knew what it _wasn’t,_ and frankly, he didn’t care.

He took what he could get. 

So Koushi waits for it again with bated breath, holding Tooru’s gaze, expectant and pleading, _please, Tooru, please. Say it like before. You don’t even have to say anything new, just tell me-_

“You should go.”

...Oh.

Isn’t that supposed to hurt, Koushi thinks, poking at the shredded remains of frivolous, verdant crowns that named him king of no one, nowhere, nothing. But it’s numbness that spreads through his limbs instead, a quiet death, hushed behind masks of painted smiles, with no one the wiser that there was anything to mourn in the first place.

“If that’s what you want, you should go. I wish you all the best in this new path you’re taking in your life. Just remember to call, every once in a while, so you won’t miss me too much.” Tooru breaks his gaze, eyes dropping down to his lap where he still clutched Koushi’s childish gift in his hands. “That’s what I would say to my friend.” 

How gracious. “Oh.”

“I hope my friend will be happy, wherever he goes. I hope his new friends treat him well. Even though they’re never going to be better than me, as long as they don’t make him cry, I think... I’ll be alright with that,” Tooru finishes solemnly. “Hypothetically.”

How nice of him to say. “Oh.”

Tooru grins up at him. “Don’t look at me like that, I can be nice if I want! And since I excel in everything I do, my niceness exceeds all expectations. Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

_Even though I didn’t want you to be nice._

“Oi, fix that tone of yours, Sugawara Koushi. It’s like you’re doubting my ability to be nice, do you _want_ me to throw a fit?”

_I wanted you to say no._

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

_And you didn’t._

“Especially since you don’t really have the best track record about these things, Tooru.”

_Do you even care that you’ll lose me at all?_

Tooru squawks indignantly, and Koushi laughingly tries to fend off his latest insult-induced angry tantrum because pretending he is not disappointed with himself for forgetting that Tooru doesn’t really even _see_ him can almost be second-nature for him, these smiles, these friendly fights, these little white lies that hurt no one because no one else has to bear their weight but himself.

Koushi can’t recall much of what happens after that, because it doesn’t feel like he’s there. 

Later, though, when Koushi goes back to his own apartment, he rips his violin free from its case and wrenches from it awful, ugly sounds, terrible things, an abuse of music that any self-respecting musician would have protected their instruments from. They would never have let this foulness stain them, never would have made these precious strings endure this kind of torture, but right now Koushi doesn’t care about being a self-respecting musician, so he lets his violin scream for him and cry for him, again and again, until he no longer feels suffocated by the endless, neverending echo of his heartbreak. 

He’s panting when he stops and it’s only then that he tries out the words for himself, just in case there was still a sweetness in them, a rich sugared flavor enough to wash away the bitter aftertaste of his own stupidity.

 _You can’t leave._ “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

They’re ashes on his tongue.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It was never going to turn out any differently. Marvels like that never happen to the same person twice and Koushi-

_You should go._

Koushi had already had his miracle.

If he’d failed to hold on to it tight enough that now it was gone, that’s no one else’s failing but his own.

  


* * *

  


“What did you think was going to happen?”

Miya doesn’t even have the decency to be startled as he looks up from his newly-minted arrangement, and raises a questioning eyebrow.

“When you told me to talk to Tooru,” Koushi clarifies tonelessly. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“Why?” Miya asks, draping an arm over the back of his chair and playing with his baton flippantly. “Did he say anything good?”

Koushi’s face tightens at the memory of it, _you should go,_ of being thrown away like he didn’t mean anything, and he bites his lip to keep himself from doing something unfortunate. 

Miya tilts his head curiously. “Well?”

Well, what? Miya’s eager gaze makes Koushi want to laugh. He wasn’t the only one who had runaway ideas, clearly.

“Nothing,” Koushi answers, turning away. 

“He didn’t say anything.”

He doesn’t get called out for playing aggressively only because that’s exactly the kind of attitude the concert piece is asking for.

Luckily.

How nice to know the universe is still capable of granting him small mercies.

  


* * *

  


“Trouble in paradise?”

Tooru turns his glare on whoever was obtuse enough to not understand the importance of leaving him alone with his serving drills. “Excuse me?”

Tetsu-chan smirks. “That’s a lot of pent-up aggression you have going on there.”

Pent-up aggression? Who said anything about pent-up aggression? It’s a serve, everyone knows how powerful Tooru is in that area. So maybe he’s trying for a hundred serves in sixty seconds. It’s totally possible. He’ll make a world record in training like it was just another day playing volleyball because he’s Oikawa fucking Tooru.

“I don’t know what you mean, Tetsu-chan,” he says through gritted teeth, bouncing the ball in his hand almost ferociously. “I’m the _perfect_ boyfriend.”

And he is. 

After all, if you love someone, set them free, isn’t that how the saying goes?

He’s practically achieved self-actualization, he’s so perfect. Imagine that - Oikawa Tooru, minor god of hopeless romantics and unrequited love.

When he serves this time, the ball shoots straight to the center of the net with such a force that it brings the entire thing down the court with a resounding _crash._

  


* * *

  


They don’t see each other for the rest of the week.

That’s fine. 

It happens. 

They’re both busy. They have responsibilities. They don’t have to see each other everyday.

It’s okay.

What it really is, however - both a comfort and a pain, and the worst part about that is they can no longer tell the difference between either.

  


* * *

  


“Yo, Sawamura.”

“Wha- Who-“

“Oya, oya, oya.”

“Kuroo?! How did you even get my number?”

“I mean I’d tell you, but a master magician never reveals his-“

“ _Please,_ Daichi, Oikawa has your number and his password is probably something nerd-stupid like C3PO.”

“Suga-chan’s birthday, actually.”

“Huh. Fluffy-stupid like Koushi’s birthday, then.”

“At least give me a _little_ credit, Michimiya, that only took me one try.”

“Whaddya want, kitty cat? I’m not in the mood to play games with someone who’s just disrupted my prospective mindblowing orgasm-”

“ _Yui._ ”

“Daichi, there’s nothing embarrassing about a prospective mindblowing orgasm.”

“Ohmygod.”

“Oho? Is baby Sawamura too _shy_ to have an adult conversation about prospective mindblowing orgasms?”

“Just say _sex,_ for the love of god.”

“Which, incidentally, is what I would be having right now if it weren’t for the kitty, so he better make this _damn good._ ”

“Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed cockblocking Sawamura for absolutely no reason-“

“I need an Advil.”

“-but if I tell you that a problem child has also been giving us all sorts of trouble over here and we’re getting really sick of it, I’m betting you’re gonna be more than just a little bit interested in what I have to say.”

“...”

“Or is that still not good enough for you, Michimiya?”

“Keep talking.”

  


* * *

  


This is the part Koushi hates the most.

When he first decided he wanted to become a serious musician, he’d thought that meant that the rest of his life will be dedicated to music, music and even more music. That was the dream. Of course, twelve-year-old kids never thought about things like money and business, which is essentially, still what everything is all about. 

They’re an orchestra and orchestras have patrons. 

After the concert, there’s cocktails and champagne and mingling with Tokyo’s upper-upper crust, making sure to leave a very favorable impression on them because they’re the reason why he can keep his job. 

Koushi doesn’t _need_ to be there, he’s not the concertmaster. Usually, he leaves at the earliest acceptable opportunity and then spends the rest of the night bothering Tooru from his couch. 

But he’d been able to successfully avoid Tooru so far this week and he’s not inclined to break that streak anytime soon. 

So when Yui starts dragging him to the ‘afterparty’ with a whole group of musicians their age, he doesn’t say no, even though she takes him to a dance club and then proceeds to drag him into the throng without asking, a suffocating, sticky-sweaty, ever-shifting forest of bodies that swallow him whole, and eagerly. For a time, there is only the crush of them - reaching arms, the restricting bar of a leg, grinding torsos like sex, or what could pass for it at least, as close to the limit of the norms called acceptable as possible, without actually crossing it. He gets lost in it, and so do his companions with him, although with considerably far more pleasure. 

He finds Yui again after a moment of frantic searching, but she’s not lost at all. She’s folded into the arms of her newly reinstated on-again boyfriend, both of them together a peaceful meadow of adoration, as two lovers should be. The sway of them is easy and thoughtless - he calls and she answers and she calls and he answers, and then Daichi bends her into a dip that turns into a kiss and there is so much freely-given intimacy that Koushi has to look away. He tries to shoulder his way to the bar instead, but Kiyoko is there with her girlfriend, and the way she looks at Yacchan with such open tenderness makes Koushi stop. And the way Yacchan falls into her embrace, safe and secure from the crowd, the effortless touch, the uncomplicated exchange of trust makes Koushi close his eyes. 

He doesn’t begrudge his friends their relationships. He doesn’t. He is happy that they are happy. He _is._ It’s just that-

He wants that, too. 

Why is it so easy for them? 

Why is it so hard for him?

Why is he always the third wheel, standing around at the side, being-

Hands close around his hips and Koushi’s eyes fly open to meet grey ones, a smirking whoever looking interesting and interested and Koushi is _jealous._ He might as well admit it, because the feeling is coursing through his veins like _poison,_ slowly, quietly, snuffing the good out of everything it touches as it goes. 

Koushi is so, so _jealous,_ and so instead of running away, he practically throws himself into this stranger’s hold, because he looks good and he smells good and he’s close and interested and if Koushi can sin every other way, he can sin this way, too.

Lust is nothing. 

If other people can dance like they want to fuck, and then make good on that promise of fucking - casual fucking, without feelings or strings or godforsaken love that hurts more than it has any right to hurt - _so can Koushi._

He’s made far worse mistakes.

He lets himself go, and relaxes into the rhythm, the bass pounding in his ears, the strobe lights flashing in his eyes, the bitter shot of envy powering his every move, and the consciousness that he is attractive and alluring and desirable. 

That he is _hot._

That he is _sexy._

That he could have his pick of men if he wanted, it’s just that he was too busy chasing after someone who could never pick him back. 

His eyes flutters close and he lets everything fade but the sensation of touch.

Another set of hands grip him and spin him around into a hard chest. Sexy Koushi _laughs,_ lets himself get stolen away - look at him, having the time of his life being fought over by men. He blinks his eyes open to steal a glance at this one, to gauge at his interest and flirt with a look and a smile because Sexy Koushi, he’s really good at that one, too.

Only, it’s not just any other guy.

It’s Tooru.

  


* * *

  


Tooru sees Koushi the moment he enters the club. He’s hard to miss, even in the midst of dozens upon dozens of bodies, he pulls focus just by being there. He’s that beautiful.

If Tooru was thinking clearly, he would have set his sights on Tetsu-chan and Boku-chan and their suspicious, out-of-the-blue bar hopping invitation. He would have understood right away that there _had_ been an ulterior motive after all, that he’d been tricked and manipulated and for that, there were consequences that needed to be dealt. 

But Tooru isn’t thinking clearly.

Tooru is watching Koushi dance with another guy, a guy Tooru doesn’t know and he strongly suspects Koushi doesn’t, either. 

Just a random guy. 

Not even Miya.

And didn’t Tooru let him go for _Miya?_

Because Miya was a better option and a better life, and Tooru can stop being selfish enough to understand that. Tooru can be minor deity - benevolent and magnanimous and always, always generous. 

But for just a random guy?

If Koushi can be with any other plain old schmuck, then why the fuck can’t he be with _Tooru?_

It’s that thought that drowns out the voice of well-meaning self-denial that Tooru has spent the whole week _loathing_ to his core and before he even knows what he’s doing, his hands are on Koushi’s hips and Koushi is throwing his head back and laughing. 

He circles his arms around his best friend and glares the other guy down to submission and doesn’t stop staring after him menacingly until he melts away into the crowd, just another vague shape in the semi-dark.

He knows when Koushi realizes it’s him because he stiffens and then yanks him down to hiss in his ear, “What are you _doing_ here, Tooru?”

“What am I doing here?” Tooru repeats angrily. “What are _you_ doing here? Have you completely forgotten-“

Koushi lurches away from him jerkily at that, looking mutinous, and the lights of the club, or lack thereof, only serve to make the expression even more threatening than it already is. “I haven’t forgotten anything,” he says, sweetly. But the cloying kind, the tone people use when they hated what they had to say, or didn’t mean it and wanted to make it obvious.

Koushi stalks away after that but Tooru pushes after him immediately, reaching for his arm and stopping his retreat just at the edge of the dance floor, near the entrance of the club where Tetsu-chan and Boku-chan no longer aren’t. “Then why the hell were you dancing with that guy?” Tooru demands, knowing exactly how livid he sounds and hating it.

“Because I can dance with _whoever I want,_ ” Koushi spits, just as lividly. 

There’s a glint of fiery challenge in his eyes. It’s one of the things Tooru loves about him, and his blood boils in a raging inferno of long subdued cravings to answer to it. “You don’t even know him! Why would you even-“

“Why would I even what?” Koushi asks, tugging his arm away and stumbling, catching himself against the wall. “Go to a club and leave with a one-night stand? Why not? That’s my choice, isn’t it? What I want to do on my own time has _nothing_ to do with you.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry, I doubt there’s a scandal waiting to happen here, where everyone is too busy with themselves to notice anything else, so your monogamous, happily-taken reputation will be fine.”

“That’s not what-“

“But I can’t stop my life forever for you, Tooru. I can’t stop it _forever._ ” 

“I wasn’t _asking_ you to-“

“And besides, it’s just another stupid, idiotic decision.”

“I-“

“I’ve made stupid, idiotic decisions before and I’m going to keep on making them.”

“Koushi-“

“It’s just a _sad fact of life_ that people are always going to make stupid, idiotic decisions they know are stupid and idiotic because no one really has all the right answers, so we all just hope we didn’t screw up _too_ badly, even when _we did,_ because hoping is _so easy_ and it’s _such_ a trap, but we all fall for it _every time_ anyway, so why do you even care?”

“ _Because you’re my boyfriend!_ ”

Tooru only realizes he’s screamed that out loud when Koushi goes mute in front of him. He hadn’t meant to say it, because it’s _stupid_ and _idiotic._ It wasn’t even true. But he couldn’t help it. Koushi wasn’t letting him talk and the words built up inside his mouth, becoming more and more insistent the longer they’re being held back, the taste of the lie heavy and unbearable and it _needed_ to come out or it was going to kill him from the inside. 

What he wants the right to be able to say, in better place, a better time, with dignity and intent, instead of a blurted accident in trashy club after Koushi’s spent the night dancing with somebody else. 

What he didn’t have the right to say, because he isn’t Koushi’s best choice.

It’s with no small amount of apprehension that he brings his gaze level with Koushi’s own and what he sees there makes him gasp, Koushi’s flushed, open face, and his _eyes_ \- Koushi never did know, just how much his eyes can affect Tooru - that glitter with such naked awe that he is _bright_ with it, luminous and iridescent with light. 

Tooru is mesmerized by the sight of him, so alive, so vibrant with life, and he brings a hand up to cup his shining face almost as if he was inside a dream. “Koushi,” he whispers lowly, voice coated in the wonder of the moment, spun sugar and gloss, the world coming up in fractals under the glow of Koushi’s brilliance. “If you don’t say anything, or do anything _right now_...

“I’m going to kiss you.”

And Koushi-

Koushi only _watches_ him, lips sweetly parted, a haven of stillness in the thrash of the chaos surrounding them, standing strong, so unbelievably fierce and yet so very vulnerable at the same time.

He’s so beautiful. 

Tooru can’t take his eyes off of him. 

Tooru loves him. 

Tooru _wants_ him. 

And so Tooru throws away all reserve, helpless to the pull of Koushi’s gravity and when he finally takes that precious face into his hands and _kisses_ him, it’s an explosion that reshapes the entire universe in its path, a shockwave, a searing heat that erases every kiss, every lover, everything that came before it, so that Koushi belonged to Tooru and Tooru to Koushi and they belonged to no one else but each other.

There is no gentleness in them. They are passion rubbed raw and ragged desperation folded into the potent surge of _I love you_ that Tooru marks into Koushi’s skin like sparks, celestial, set alight by the incandescent radiance that is Koushi’s touch. 

And Tooru burns for him. 

Tooru burns for him so willingly.

He was wrong, all this time, after all. 

Koushi isn’t a star.

Koushi is a supernova.

  


* * *

  


He gets a moment of clarity when they both fall into bed.

 _This is a bad idea,_ Koushi’s mind whispers, stalwart in its role of self-preservation. Already his heart feels like a bird, wings beating frantically against the cage of his ribs so that releasing it from its prison meant that he had to tear his own chest apart - a choice between the freedom to love or the wholeness of his self because he can’t have one and still keep the other. 

But Tooru’s hands are all over, and Koushi’s are, too, tracing the breadth of Tooru’s shoulders, the elegant shape of him - silk on coiled muscle, reflex and power, thrumming beneath his fingertips, and all his, all _his._ It makes Koushi feel powerful, the noises Tooru makes, the way he arches gracefully into Koushi’s touch, lips petal-soft and swollen, molding around his name with the kind of reverence that should only be given to gods. 

Pleasure rushes over him like wildfire and it’s too late, really, for any attempt at protection because Koushi has long ago made his choice.

 _Lie to me, Tooru,_ as he pulls Tooru down to crash on his lips so he doesn’t have to say it out loud, just trace it on salty skin with cupid’s bow and his tongue. 

_Lie to me and make me believe that you love me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Did I just shamelessly romanticize sex in this chapter by using flowery words and a gratuitous quantity of star metaphors? Yes, I did. I would have written the smex if I could, but I am Not Good at that so I just made the executive decision to not ruin this fic any more than I already have. Please allow me to apologize for my shortcomings OTL
> 
> \- I did change the chapter title from the preview and I'm also sorry about that. I kinda just realized, in the course of translating this to actual paragraphs from an outline, that instead of jealousy, the opposite is actually more indicative of the mood of the chapter (and also the not-mood of it, I dunno if that makes sense, but yes) so.
> 
> \- I really tried to pick some other good luck charm/olive branch but I just kept on gravitating (ha!) back to Certain Victory and I know that’s a DaiYui thing but, like, my heart didn’t want to let it go so in the end, I just had to... ~follow it. I’m really sorry.
> 
> \- The entire OiSuga volleyball talk is basically the tactic Suga used against Kyouken in S2, even down to Kyouken's jersey number. I'm not a volleyball player, ok, I tried my best >.<
> 
> \- You can say Oikawa was being really complimentary when he said Suga was a supernova and that’s totally fine. Please keep on believing it. Suga is a superstar that deserves to be appreciated and loved by all. But if you want to be angsty about it - A supernova is a dying star, but one that shines brighter than everything else as it goes. As in: being with Suga is the best thing that could have happened to Oikawa even when he knows, however subconsciously, that he will eventually have to lose him. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Next time: define cowardice (but can you even really trust me anymore, that's the real question, because even I don't trust me OTL)


End file.
